#AND LEFT A LITTLE NOTE CALLING THEM A TRAITOR

[sweetangelanon]

The way im gaining comfort over reading about a child murder cuz tommorw is THE DAY an some would call it ironic. look i love my silly little murder freakazoid because I can day dream about them murdering my abusers an i honestly think that's for the best healing my inner child

[bet-on-me-13]

Talia took a 20+ Year Undercover mission a while ago

So! Talia is the Daughter of Ra's Al Ghul, and has been alive and at his side for many years now. Decades even. She is well into her 100's, even though her physical Body looks like that of a 20 yr old.

And in all the years that she has lived, what's to say she didn't take a few years off as a vacation? Even Ra's must take a few years off every once in a while, leaving to spend time on some remote island he can relax on for once. So, one day in the Early 80's she decided to do the same.

But she wouldn't be completely relaxing, she would take the break to further the League's goals still. She decided to Dye her Hair, change her Name, get into an acceptable College, and study Lazarus Waters to their scientific limit. She decided to name if Ectoplasm, to avoid any unwanted attention.

And while there, she met a pair of men doing the exact same.

Jack and Vladimir were nice enough. Although their Research was more focused on Ghosts, or as she would call them, Pit Demons. They were convinced that Ectoplasm and Ghosts came from another Dimension, and if they could find a way to open a Dimension Gateway to this theoretical Ghost Zone, they could aquire Limitless Clean Energy (and maybe find a way to contain the Ghostly threat).

Over the years, Talia Maddie would fall for Jack. Eventually, even after she had completed her College Studies and Vlad had left contact with them, she decided to extend her Vacation to further study Ectoplasm with Jack. One thing led to another, and eventually she found herself pregnant. And then it happened again.

Jazzmine and Daniel were the cutest little babies. But she knew the danger they would be in if it was ever discovered that she was their Mother, so she trained them in everything she could so they could survive. She knew her time as Maddie Fenton was coming short, but she resolved to stay, at the very least until Jazz was an Adult.

She didn't account for Daniel becoming a Small Town Hero, but those were just the Trials of motherhood.

Then, the day came. She left a note on her bedside table explaining that she regretted what had to happen, and left in the middle of the night. It was better this way.

...

The year right after she returned, her Father forced her to have a Child with his most prospective Heir. The Bat, he called himself. Oh he was Charming, there was no denying that, but unfortunately she was still working through her feelings about Jack.

She treated her resulting child poorly because of that, and that she regreted it deeply. She loved him, honestly she did, but it was hard to look at him and not remember Daniel. Still, she persevered.

The day she once again had to give up her son for his protection was the hardest of her life.

But it was unavoidable. The Coup that had taken her Father's life had also fractured the Organization, anyone could have taken their shot at her Son as the rightful Heir. She needed to protect him as she took care of the Traitors.

...

Damian always knew he was the One True Heir. It was his defining character trait for his early years of life. Even though he had grown to be more than just that over recent years, he always felt like it was a key part of his identity.

Until now.

Because the BatComputer had just finished running a DNA Test on the Blood of a man who he had spotted on his Patrol the previous night.

A DNA Test that had come back, with results claiming that the man, who looked almost exactly like a younger male version of his Mother, was his Half Brother.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Traded Posession

Dark!jacaerys x reader

A/N: I definitely did not do this request justice but I also feel like this would have to be a series if I did and I probs should finish a series before I start a new one😭

Pt 2 here

TW: DUBCON, smut, semi public sex, degration, talks of death, size kink

word count: 1,656 words

They call you a witch, all of them. How else would an unremarkable peasant girl get the attention of Aemond Targaryen? You spend your days at his side, bathed in blood as you lick his dagger clean. You’re his perfect accomplice. You like to think that he cares for you, loves you even but in this moment, you realize just how wrong you are.

The Kinslayer has fled King’s Landing and Prince Jacaerys has claimed it. He leaves you behind like a toy that he has tired of.

The next few days are a blur. Cregan Stark’s

men are the ones to find you after your

failed attempts to escape the city. In hindsight, it was silly to think you’d make it to Harrenhall anyhow, make it to your lover. After you are arrested, they promptly throw you into the dungeon, the dungeon where you have been left to rot for the past few days.

This is when you truly realize that he’s not coming for you. He’s. Not. Saving. You. And you were an idiot to think otherwise.

You’re getting close to having been left alone too long with your thoughts when the door to your cell clangs open. Two guards walk in and lift you under each arm, to your feet.

“Hey! What are you doing?” You ask, happy to be taken out of the dungeon but unsure if it’s out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“His Grace has summoned your presence.” The guard on the left says as they drag you to the throne room.

When you arrive, the doors are thrown open and you stumble in, the guards’ pace much quicker than your own. You come to a halt and someone says, “You stand in the presence of the Dragon Prince, Jacaerys, Heir to the Iron Throne and future Protector of the Realm.”

Jacaerys Velaryon stares down at you from the Iron Throne, a cold gaze in his eyes. “Kneel.” He commands and when you don’t immediately obey, your legs are kicked out at the joint and you fall to your knees. He just looks at you for a moment. “You’re much plainer than I had suspected.” He comments offhandedly.

“Sorry to disappoint.” You say with a grimace.

A hand strikes you across the face. “You will use the proper honourifics when you address the prince, whore.” The guard on the right spits out at you.

“There’s no need for that at the moment, Ser.” Jacaerys says and then smirks. “Actually, i’ll have the room cleared.

“Your Grace.” The guards bow and then exit the room dutifully.

“I was truly pleased when we captured you, girl. I had this whole plan to trade you to my traitor of an uncle just to make him watch as I burned you alive instead…” He trails off. It’s almost like he’s telling you a story rather than describing your fate. “It was all going to be proper vengeance for my brother. Though, you’re not nearly as innocent as he was, are you?” The way he speaks is so casual that it could almost unnerve you, if it wasn’t for your experience with one bloodthirsty Targaryen already. “Imagine my surprise when I send a messenger to him and the boy returns, cockless, with a note that says I can keep you.”

You try not to let the hurt show on your face. After all you’ve done for him, Aemond couldn’t give a shit whether you live or die.

“Ahh disappointed, are you? So am I.” He says simply. “I was actually so terribly disappointed that I found that sweet little village you’re from and burnt it down instead.”

The blood drains from your face. “W-What?”

“You were not useful to me so I burnt your fucking village to the ground.”

You don’t feel like the powerful woman you were at Aemond’s side at this point. You don’t even know how you feel. Your silence reflects your shock.

“Is that all you can show your future king, a blank stare? The more I look at you, the more I can’t believe how the cyclops was so beguiled. You’re nothing.” He says with a cruel disappointment.

You stare him down, angrily now and you spit on the ground in front of you.

“Are you trying to prove something to me, wench? All I can see is that you are perhaps a bit more reckless than an average peasant. Do you care for your life at all?” He asks, like he thinks you’re stupid.

“Yes, your Grace.” You say, thinking it would be unwise to lie. Spitting at his feet was unwise as well but perhaps pride is your fatal flaw… perhaps.

“Come here.” He says, beckoning you with his fingers. You follow his command, stopping at his feet. He points down. “Kneel.” You feel inclined to disobey, Aemond liked that defiance but this man is harder to read, frightening in a different way.

“I plead your mercy, my prince.” Grovelling usually is the safest bet.

“You really cannot decide how to act, can you? I intend to find your purpose.” He grabs you by the chin and tilts your head up. “Let’s start with the most logical.” He unbuckles his belt and you know exactly what he desires.

The prince is well endowed, you know it before he releases himself, but you could not have expected him to be this sizable. He laughs at your reaction. “Judging by the look on your face, Aemond’s cock is small.”

Not small. You think to yourself. But compared to this…

“I don’t doubt that you know what to do. I trust you won’t try anything stupid” He says seriously.

Stupid like biting his cock off.

He’s right though, you do know what to do, taking him in your mouth as much as you can and beginning to suck, you quickly realize Jacaerys is bored. You speed up your movements, just the way Aemond used to like it. The quick pace usually is pleasing to most men… you thought, but the way the prince slumps back in his throne says otherwise. He examines one of the swords next to him in a distant sort of interest and after a few moments, he grips your hair and pulls you off.

“I see now why he didn’t come back for you. You’re like a broken toy.”

You just gaze up at him from under your lashes. “It’s how he liked it.”

Jace scoffs. “What a surprise. You have no technique. I suppose you can learn. I expected you’d be a fully trained pet but oh well.” He brings your head close again. “Go slower this time.” He tells you and you do, taking the head into your mouth and beginning to suckle like a little lamb. “Better.”

You lick up his shaft and then try to take him fully into your mouth again. He never completely fits but you bring your hand up to aide yourself. He guides your movements, pulling on your hair back and forth. You gag almost every time but it would be pretty much impossible not to with how big he is. Though he seems to get off on both, it’s more the motions than your suffering that brings him pleasure.

“Good. Now get up.” He says as he pulls you off again. He stands as well and though he’s not as tall as aemond, he’s still taller than you. “Bend over.”

“Over what, your Grace?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, like you’re more of a nuisance than anything. He then swiftly grabs you by the waist and manhandles you so you’re bent over the iron throne. Though, you make yourself pliable for him.

“You would think that as a prince, I wouldn’t have to do all this work.” He rucks up your skirts and tugs down your smallclothes. He sees your folds glistening with wetness. “Oh gods, you like all this? What a pretty little cunt you have.” He says as he rubs his hand through it. “Let’s see if it’s enough to truly make a man cunt-struck.” He then slips himself inside of you, so slowly that you think that it makes it hurt more rather than less.

“Ah-ah…” you whimper out once he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

“I almost didn’t think I’d get it all the way in.” He laughs a little before beginning to thrust lazily. “Maybe this was the only reason he kept you around. It wasn’t enough though, was it? He still abandoned his little whore.” He chuckles and begins to thrust a little harder now. “Nothing to say? You were so confident at the cyclops’s side you seemed to have lots to say then.”

“My prince…” you moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you, his thick cock filling you up deliciously.

“Say my name when I fuck you.”

“Mmm, Jacaerys.” You whine out as his hands come to your hips, his thrusts making you unsteady.

“Perhaps I’ll keep you around. Make you my little fuck toy.” His thrusts get quite rough now. He’s angry and taking it out on you. And you could swear that his thrusts are so deep that his cock is in your tummy. You feel his fingertips on your pearl.

“Please, Jacaerys.” You beg him for release.

“Begging now? Gods maybe my stupid fucking uncle just enjoyed how pathetic you are, but you don’t care about him now, do you? You’re my whore now.” His hips keep slamming against yours and his words make you hit your peak, the possession of them enticing you. The way you constrict around him has the young prince hitting his peak as well. He spills his seed deep inside you and then immediately pulls out.

“I’m going to my chambers. I’ll have you bathed and delivered there in an hour.” He says before descending the steps and leaving you there, slumped over the iron throne.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy

[sw3etnena]

Till death do us part

Summary: Votes are just words when a betrayal is discovered.

Warnings: Angst, physical aggression, torture, false betrayal, Pregnancy.

Author's notes: Let's start with an important fact, English is not my first language, if there is any spelling mistake, blame the translator! Second fact: Votes and reposts are appreciated, so please do this charity. And third fact: I know them, seriously, but I ended up running out of ideas for scenarios, so I got inspired by the Russians (since they have a history)

☆"I, Y/N/S, take thee, Simon Riley, to be my lawfully

wedded husband."☆

Ghost Husband! Who feels the world fall apart when he opens the yellow folder left on his desk, photos of you, talking and exchanging envelopes with a man he knows very well, after all, he was the one who captured him, a member of the Russian force.

He runs through the corridors, all eyes seem to be on him, but he doesn't care, clutching the envelope in his hands as he runs to the cells, where he knows you would be, where you are.

— Ghost… — Price steps in front of him, his hands holding your shoulders, Ghost can't look at him, his eyes fixed on you, hanging, hurt and almost unconscious.

— Did she betray us? — The question seems to come out bitterly, every piece of Ghost collapses when the captain nods reluctantly.

— Andrey Petrov. He confessed things that only she heard besides us. — He explains, and then Ghost pushes him aside, opening the cell, he sees you raise your head.

— Si… — You try with a broken voice, grunting when he squeezes your cheeks.

— We share the same bed. — He interrupts, you notice his eyes shining with tears. — And yet you betrayed me. YOU BETRAYED US!

You flinch when he shouts, pushing away from you aggressively.

— They lied, I-I. — You stop only to watch him rip open the envelope, throwing the photos at your bruised body. You tremble as you look at the photos, your doctor, the one who examined you two weeks ago, who told you in no uncertain terms that a child was on the way.

Did he lie?

— Simon… — Your voice breaks, suddenly you find the strength to face your husband. — He's my doctor, I was…

— Confidential conversations. — He interrupts again, approaching you again, pointing his finger in your face. — That only you heard, only you, me, and the captain, don't fucking lie to me.

— Simon…

— DON'T CALL ME THAT! — He yells, his hands coming up to hold your hair, you scream in pain. — You're nothing more than a traitor now.

Traitor.

'I swear to love and care for you at all times, and if I fail, it's because I'm dead." Simon says in a low voice, a soft smile on his face as he places the ring on your finger. "I swear to have you as my wife for the rest of my life, at all times, I will love you."

— I am… — You try to say, your voice dies when the door is opened once again, revealing a soldier, your colleague, known as “Wasp”.

— Lieutenant… The captain is calling you. — I’m coming. — And then he lets go of your hair, and slowly lifts your balaclava, collecting saliva and then spitting it on your face, the saliva mixing with your tears.

— I’ve already finished what I had to do. — And as soon as he leaves, you know that your world has ended, every piece of it, slipped through your fingers, so quickly, it all started in the morning, when you appeared in the mess hall, and everyone turned to you, until your captain, and best man at your wedding, punched you in the ribs, you fell to your knees, and then you were dragged to a cell.

— Please… — Your voice is interrupted by the scream that escapes, with the sharp pain of the cut on your arm, and then cheeks, thighs and legs.

— Your little friend asked me to say something. — The woman sighs, turning the bloody knife in her fingers. You frown. — It wasn’t fake. What wasn’t fake?

And then your eyes widen, your heart pounding in your chest.

— Listen, I swear I'm not a traitor. — A strong slap is placed on your face, you bite your cheeks before continuing. — You need to tell Simon that…

— Do you really think we're going to believe anything you say? — She questions, getting closer only to put the knife too close to your neck.

— Then go through my sock drawer. — You beg, tears falling. — If you ever had any respect for me, as a partner, at least tell Simon that. She doesn't answer, she just takes the knife away from your neck, grabs a bucket of ice water, and throws it on your body.

It was at that moment that you knew you were going to die.

☆"I promise to be faithful. "☆

You have no idea what time it is. The cell is dark, and now empty, only the sound of water dripping from your disheveled clothes fills the dirty environment, decorated with your blood and dried tears.

No one visited you besides the woman, but you know there's a soldier at the door, you can see the shadow, they all came to look at you, not for long enough, just telling you how disgusted you made them, Kyle, Price, Ghost, they were all at your wedding, they were all your family.

You decide to stop mourning, there aren't many things in the room, but there is the knife used by the woman who tortured you, under a table a few feet away from you.

With difficulty, you manage to free yourself from the handcuffs, your feet finally falling silently to the dirty floor, you don't care, picking up the knife, also ignoring the pain in your broken thumbs.

Hiding is also easy, you just stay behind the door, until you hear the soldier curse, and then open the door, looking for you, who is quick to attack - even with the pain in your body - You press the knife into his shoulder, he grunts in pain, and then you knock him down, piercing just below his ribs, a clean cut, without any damaged area, you were not a monster like them.

You grab the man's boots that are easily too big for your feet, but it doesn't matter, not when you run silently through the corridors, ignoring the silent pains in your body.

Dodging the awake soldiers is easier than it seems, ducking and sneaking, but unfortunately, the emergency button is soon activated, while you hide behind a column, everyone runs in the opposite direction, and you smile mentally, stumbling until you reach the outside, and then into the forests.

During the night, which you discover is cold, you hold your slightly larger belly, it's a search for comfort, and you can't help but pray that he's okay.

You don't know how long you've been walking, but at some point, your still wet body feels heavy, and you find yourself forced to lean against a tree, sliding until you fall on top of the leaves, you sigh, your eyes closing. I'm not going to die.

☆"love you and respect you ."☆

— WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?! — Ghost screams as he pushes the door, the squad stares at him, clearing their throats.

— She injured one of ours, and then ran away. — Price explains. — All we know is that she ran into the forest.

— She would have to walk more than ten kilometers to find any sign of life. — Ghost grumbles, rubbing his forehead in irritation.

— She must have someone waiting for her. — Kyle suggests.

— And wouldn't they come for Andrey? — Ghost interrupts.

— Y/N could be the real piece, Andrey is probably a pawn. — Kyle explains, crossing his arms.

— He got caught and then he ratted her out, we just need to know how she got someone to come looking for her.

— That doesn't matter now. — Price says, walking around the room. — We need to know what she knew, and how much they know.

And then they go back to Andrey's cell, who is more injured than you, with a broken nose, and yet a splendid smile on his face, the smile of a winner, he starts to hum.

— Не плачь, девочка, мама тебя спасет. — Ghost approaches, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

— What is he singing? — Ghost asks the translator next to him, he doesn't take long to answer.

— Don't cry girl, mommy will save you. — Ghost sighs deeply, holding his jaw.

— Tell me what you know.

— Она такой хороший солдат, мой друг, она девушка. — he says with difficulty.

— She'll make a good soldier, I bet it's a girl. — The military man translates.

— Who is she? — Ghost takes a deep breath, irritation growing in his body.

— Кто она? — The translator asks.

—Это, очевидно, ваша дочь. — He says, looking at Simon with a big smile.

For a moment, even the military man translating stops, his eyes wide and his breath held.

— What the fuck did he say? — Ghost steps away, approaching the translator, who reluctantly looks into his eyes.

— Your daughter.

No. It can't be. I-

It's impossible.

He doesn't,

there's no way,

no-

— Daughter? — His questions come out slowly.

— The one in your little wife's belly. — The prisoner says with an accent, his voice thick and drawn out, his smile seems to widen, and suddenly Ghost feels suffocated.

— I'll kill you, you son of a bitch! — He grabs the man by the collar, his eyes locked on his, who shows no sign of lying, Ghost feels dizzy. — She's not pregnant, she would have told me!

— Она сказала, что планирует рассказать

— She said she planned to say it.

— Она сказала, что хочет чего-то романтического.

— She said she wanted something romantic.

“Baby, what do you think of this?” You ask sweetly one night, sitting on Simon’s lap, scrolling your finger on the screen of your phone.

“Why something so fancy, baby? We’re already married, aren’t we?” Simon jokes, mentally noting the name of the place.

“I want something special for us, Si.” And then you kiss him, he kisses you back, so sweetly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

— Папы не существует, мама его убьет. — He continues to hum.

— Daddy doesn’t exist, mommy will kill him.

Simon doesn’t think before running to his quarters, the room they’ve shared for years, he searches under the bed, inside the wardrobes, and then drawers. There are sheets of paper with words and more words, and then:

Positive for pregnancy.

— Simon. — Price runs to the room, stopping at the door only to see Simon kneeling, his fingers trembling as he holds the paper. — Did you find out?

— Find out what? — He looks up at his captain.

— The pregnancy. — Price bites his cheeks, guilt burning in his chest.

— How do you know about this?

— W-we found a… — Price interrupts himself, sniffling softly, trying to contain his tears. — Recorder on her cell phone, hidden in the case.

— S-so she didn’t… — Simon doesn’t need to finish, he is interrupted by a loud sniff from Price, who timidly nods. — Fuck.

Traitor.

Traitor.

Traitor.

“I swear, for the rest of my life, to be with you, when you fall and when you get up.” Simon fell even more in love with your smile, at that moment, you dressed in white, your eyes shining, he finally felt alive.

Kyle, Gaz, Price, Soap, his entire family, present at the best moment of his life.

“And I promise to love you even in the fights, the battles and the heartaches.”

Idiot.

Idiot.

Idiot.

— We need to go after her. — And then they both quickly agree, and stumble toward the rest of the task force.

Little did they know that as their bodies ran through the forests, screaming your name, with nothing but flashlights to light their way, you were no longer there, your body carried like feathers by soldiers in black, barely able to breathe, pale and cold.

— It seems we have a victory. — One of them cheers, the same Russian accent you would hear from now on, a new life.

Or the destruction of it.

☆"In joy and in sadness"☆

[bambisnc]

u got me so in love [ft. p.hn]

@ yn : idk sounds like a you problem tbh @ hanni : oh yeah? watch me make it into an us problem rn babe <3

pairing : bsf!hanni x f!reader genre : angst w a dash of crack cw/tw : swearing + uneditted + hints of reader being possessive/jealous + surprise moka appearance! <3 wc : 0.5k

you saw hanni before she saw you. 

however, to be fair, the fact that in every hallway, every room, every crowd in general, your eyes would always, always be constantly in search of her did give you a fair advantage. 

she was pulling someone along by their arm, in that trademark cheerful manner of hers. 

but she was too busy in conversation to notice you staring. 

too busy in conversation to notice how you forcibly immersed yourself into conversation with minji just to appear unbothered.

you almost succeed. 

keyword : almost.

she finally approaches you. the traitor. misusing that beautiful grin of hers to force a matching one on your own face.

“y/n!! you remember we have to be at school this saturday right? for the physics project?” 

you can’t help but be distracted by how she’s still holding some other girl’s hand. you don't think you've seen her before, she's probably new - and your best friend, being the absolute sweet soul that she is probably offered to show her around.

but it's crazy if you think about it – hanni has no shortage of friends and physical touch is how she shows affection. plus it’s not like the two of you are together or anything; she's only your best friend.  

so why does it bother you this much?

you carefully hide the annoyance starting to creep up on your features and shrug noncommittally (a VERY inappropriate response to the question she'd asked). 

hanni looks like she’s finally noticed something. 

“oh! moka, these are my friends!” she gestures towards you, “and side note : this one's for sure the cutest!” “is that how you usually introduce people?” you deadpan; the compliment not doing much to appease the vague ickiness you feel.

“no!!” hanni huffs sheepishly, “minji, y/n, this is the new transfer student sakai moka; she’s in my class!”

before either you or minji is able to reply, the school bell rings and a bustling crowd of students surges through. the 2 of you get separated from hanni and .. moka.

you’re left just a little dazed but aren’t able to dwell much on it when some other classmates/acquaintances/friends engage you in random mindless chatter which you'd be damned if you were even half interested in.

- the next you see the two of them is by the stairwell; both of them standing against the wall, animatedly talking about something or the other. 

could it be that she’s waiting for you?.. 

as soon as the crowd parts enough way to walk through, you, ironically, lose sight of her completely. 

.. so she wasn’t waiting.

the entire occurrence leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth. 

and the idea of processing whatever you’re feeling seems a little too much for you to be able to handle right now. 

you can't help but suddenly remember when just an year earlier, you and hanni had been sitting together on these same stairs. she'd confessed that she wasn't looking forward to going to the next grade because that would mean both of you would be different classes.

she'd made you promise you wouldn't become best friends with someone new you met. she'd made you promise to only be hers.

too bad you just laughed it off back then.

-

when you check your phone later, a flurry of notifications greet you, all from a certain someone who’s been on your mind quite literally all day.

● hanniiee (cutest bestest most perfect bff) :3 <3

Y/NNN  Y/NNNNIEEE WHERE’VE U BEEN ALL DAYYY IMYYY

oh and omg moka told me the funniest story about her old school you’ll love her smmm fr :((

AWW HOLD ON NO WAY  minji js texted 🤭🤭🤭 is my darling a little jealous perhaps~~ ??  u know ur always my no.1 y/nnie <33

CALL MEEE ALR LOSER

ah shit wait i need to go over to moka’s rn to help w school work

call me when u can tho i’ll be free to pick up anytime !!!

…

but when you call hanni a little later, you’re met with an automated response.

the number you have dialed is currently busy. please try again.

notes : bambisnc comeback no wayyy anyw what if i changed my user back to bambinsc guys ive totally not being having sm thoughts about doinf that + [m.list] song rec : te quiero - kissoflife! <3

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

pt.2 <3

[lola-la-cava]

Met ‘23

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Y-yeah, don’t even worry about it. Who needs air?. Just… keep going” I say as they continue to tighten the corset. I grip my waist, sucking up as much air as I can.

All of a sudden, I hear a familiar voice tsk. The women helping me with my dress backs up, causing the piece of clothing to loosen.

“Did she put you up to this?”, he asked the woman. She nodded.

“Traitor!”

He laughs at my quip and comes up to kiss my cheek. “You look beautiful”

Timothée looks me up and down, examining the dress and taking my hand to twirl me. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” I giggle.

The curly haired boy gasped, “Half bad? Come on! Give me a little more credit!”

“Ah fine! You look gorgeous!” I praise, getting my body close to his to pull him in for a needed kiss.

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m not done yet! Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, huh, lover boy?” my make-up artist comes to pull us apart and retouching my lipstick.

“How could I?” he stared at me with a love sick stare that I didn’t quite notice at the time.

Timothée hears a quick snap!from the camera. He whips his head around to see one of the photographers catch the perfect moment.

“Whoops” the guy shrugged.

“You people are sickening!” my assistant screamed from the other side of the room.

Timothée answers back, “Jealous much, Meg?”

“Ha. ha.” she teased. “I happen to enjoy being all alone, thank you very much”

I playfully roll my eyes at her antics. “Yeah, sureee”

“Aaalright, Y/N you’re set!” She pats my cheek as I look at her with grateful eyes.

Timothée’s arms wrap around my front once again as soon as she let go. His head resting on my shoulder, kissing my neck

“I just hope lover boy here doesn’t ruin your make-up”

“No promises” he giggles as he playfully placed wet kisses on the side of my head.

“I swear, you will never hear the end from me if you do” she warns him.

“Now, get on out there. Tons of people are expecting you”

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Ah, the calm before the storm.

Well, as calm as it can get. Which was not very.

They stood in the line before getting their pictures taken. Celebrities in extravagant clothing surrounded them. Some familiar faces present that Y/N took note to say hello to later on.

Y/N smoothed over her dress and brought her hand up to fix her hair again. Timothée noticing this, he interrupted her movement and took her hand. He squeezed it three times before kissing it.

I love you.

She took her hand back and grabbed her phone from a discreet pocket on the dress.

She scrolled aimlessly through social media, trying to get feeling of impending doom of my mind.

Her eye catches a random headline from an entertainment news update account. It read:

‘Timothée Chalamet and Kylie Jenner hard launching their relationship at tonight’s Met Gala? Y/N Y/L/N left in the dust?’

She lets out an obnoxious scoff. Timmy hearing it, he looks at her screen, reading the obviously made-up headline.

“God, they’re still on that?”

He notices his partner’s silence. “Come on. You’re not really bothered by this, are you?”

She opened her mouth to say something. No words came out. She merely shrugged.

He gripped her shoulders and pulled her in for a bear hug. Timothée rested his head on hers as she got close to his chest, hearing the comforting beat of his heart that never failed to comfort her.

The couple stayed like that. “Trust me, mon coeur. I wouldn’t have this any other way. I’m perfect where I am and who I’m with”

“Shit, I actually might cry. I never know what to say when you say this sappy shit”, Y/N chuckles as she puts her hand up to mess with his styled hair.

Feeling her hand creeping his back, Timmy pulls away and bows. “I aim to please you. It’s my sole purpose in life”

A smile instantly appeared on her face and butterflies in her stomach. Nothing had definitely changed from when they first started going out. Same sparks, same chemistry, same tension. Whatever you wanna call it. It was there. They had it.

She tugged on his hand, pulling him in for one more kiss. Y/N looked at him, looking over the features she admired so much that she practically memorized them. Her gaze lands on his lips.

Some of her lipstick and gloss had transferred to his lips. She quickly tried to get the makeup off. “Shit, wait hold on. You have some-“

He smacks her hand away. “No, no. Keep it.” He rubbed his lips together getting the substance to cover all ground.

“Y/N Y/L/N and Timothée Chalamet? They’re ready for you.”

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Right now, I’m here with everyone’s favourite couple, Timothée Chalamet and Y/N Y/L/N” Emma, the interviewer, spoke with enthusiasm.

We’d just finished the carpet and were almost home free. Camera flashes blinded my vision as I tried not to close my eyes throughout the whole thing. Screams of my name were heard throughout the venue. Meddlesome questions and controlling demands to pose a certain way were yelled. To which, I didn’t respond to. Why should I? I maintained my balance by holding onto Timothée. You’d think after a few years, you’d get used to the bordering aggressive personalities you have to deal with every single day.

It turns out not really.

“How does it feel to be back? I mean, you guys have gone before, but how does it feel to be here as the quote-unquote, it couple?”

Me and Timmy both give awkward chuckles as we heard the last two words.

“Uh- I really don’t know about that last part, but it just feels great to share such a meaningful moment with him. I’ve personally dreamed of attending since I first saw it as a kid and to be invited for the second time… It’s just… yea”, I answer, not being able to expound on the statement.

Emma hums and gains back the mic.

“So, rumors have been swirling about the internet that actually said othewise. Do you have anything to say about that?” She points the microphone at Timothée this time, definitely hinting at the Kylie rumors.

He seems taken aback by the question, not knowing what to say and the only thing I’m able to do was squeeze his hand. Three times.

I love you.

Emma realizes this with a regretful look on her face. She leans toward both of us as she moves the mic away.

“It’s totally fine if you guys aren’t comfortable. We could just mov-“

He takes the mic, she gives him a grateful small smile.

“No, I uh, me and Y/N have actually seen a handful of tweets about this and I just wanna set the record straight and say we are very much still together”, he nods as he hands the microphone back to her.

“I think I’m right by saying that this has definitely relieved viewrs at home and me.” We laugh genuinely at her quip.

I imagine people on Twitter have stopped adding fuel to the fire after what he said and can have a better goodnight’s sleep later in the evening.

“And that’s our time. I’ll see you lovebirds inside! Have a great time together!”

We both shook her hand and left with an indebted expression for keeping it mellow (for the most part) after such a nerve-wracking red carpet.

“Very professional with that answer, Chalamet”, I hook my arms with his and leaned on his shoulder.

“Of course, ‘gotta remind everyone you’re still my girl”, he says with a smug smirk.

I laugh, “Your girl? I suppose that means you’re my boy?”

He playfully rolls his eyes. “Come on! As if you didn’t know that from the beginning”

“Ohhh, I know. I just wanted to hear it from your mouth!”

[shitouttabuck]

this could be the year for the real thing

buck/eddie | 1.7k | 7x06 coda(ish)

Eddie can count on one hand the number of times he’s been this horrifically hungover. His pre-teenage-pregnancy body bounced back blessedly quickly from tailgate parties and keg stands and beer pong tournaments, but after that? His cousins threw his bachelor party before he married Shannon, which involved a lot of mixed liquor, and then there were a couple miserable nights out after she left him, and now, last night, him and Buck the sole bachelor party members standing after Chim didn’t show up.

This is his worst hangover, because at least all the other times he wasn’t seized with worry about one of his closest friends and regret that he and Buck hadn’t noticed the empty hotel bed the night before. The nausea from hell doesn’t help, either.

Chim’s safe now, under the careful monitor of Cedars hospital staff and Maddie no more than three feet away from him at all times. The relief is a palpable thing, and Buck offering him a steaming paper cup of green tea soothes the churning in his gut a little bit, too.

He takes a sip and sighs gratefully, slumping against Buck in the hospital waiting room chairs when he takes the seat beside Eddie.

“Still queasy?” Buck asks, voice a rumble.

“Mm,” Eddie says, “back-to-back shots of tequila and sambuca are not it.”

Buck shudders beside him. “Don’t,” he begs, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “I’m still very much in range of hurling.”

“Have you eaten anything today?” Eddie’d only managed half a banana when he went home to shower and change, but he knows Buck’s been with Maddie most of the day, and when it comes to taking care of other people, he sometimes forgets about himself.

“Had a granola bar,” Buck says, eyes still closed. “Can’t—don’t wanna think about food yet.”

His stomach chooses then to grumble audibly, with traitorously comedic timing, and Eddie snorts. Buck opens one eye to grin at him.

“Don’t listen to her,” he says, patting his belly. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“She doesn’t, huh? Then I guess she’s not interested in stopping by the juice bar on Sunset on the way home? Some sweet, sweet smoothies, all that fresh fruit and hydration, don’t even have to chew…”

Buck’s stomach rumbles interestedly and they both laugh.

“That sounds—so good, actually,” Buck admits. “We can pick up the peanut butter one for Chris, he’s always hankering—”

He breaks off as Hen appears at the end of the hallway, looking around and hurrying over as soon as she spots them. Eddie doesn’t think anything’s wrong—she’s beaming—but he and Buck sit up quickly in their seats anyway.

“Ugh,” Buck says, and Eddie’s dizziness at the sudden movement wholeheartedly agrees.

“We’re having a motherfucking wedding,” Hen grins, tugging them both to their feet, uncaring of their delicate dispositions. “Right here, right now.”

“Hospital wedding?” Buck asks, eyes wide. “Holy shit, okay, what do we need—who do we call—fuck—”

“Calm down, Buckaroo,” Hen smiles. “Just get friends and family over here, Karen’s gonna pick up Maddie’s dress, I’m gonna call Bobby, and we’re having a wedding.”

Buck’s already pulling up a copy of the guest list on his phone, squinting at it and muttering names under his breath.

“You boys got this?” Hen asks while dialling Bobby.

“Yep,” Eddie gives her a mock salute. “We’ll split the list and make some calls.”

He types out half the names Buck reads off to him in his notes app, and the two of them work through them methodically, calling Chim and Maddie’s nearest and dearest for this impromptu ceremony.

“Chris will kill us if he misses it,” he says suddenly, and Buck looks up at him, mid-text.

“He’s with Isabel, right? Pepa’s place is only a ten minute drive from here.”

Eddie nods. “I don’t have my car, though. You drove me.”

Buck tosses him the Jeep keys. “I’ll finish calling people, you go get them.”

“Cool,” Eddie says, and nearly bodies himself with the instinctive urge to lean over and kiss Buck on the cheek as he stands. It’s surprising, even though it shouldn’t be, because it’s an urge he fought and failed about thirty times last night, Buck’s sweaty skin pressed to his, salty under his mouth every time he dropped an innocuous, friendly kiss to his face with nothing but alcohol in his veins.

It hadn’t seemed out of place then, everything shiny and bright, Buck leaning right back into him.

Now, under the fluorescents of the hospital, organising a makeshift wedding for their family? Eddie doesn’t think it would land quite the same.

“Back in twenty,” he tells Buck instead, and has to physically tear himself away from the smile Buck turns his way, warm and golden under the harsh lights.

Chris and Abuela are delighted to be included, and, true to his word, they’re back at the hospital as the rest of the guests begin arriving, too.

Eddie’s—okay, he’s not going to say he’s not a crier, it’s just that his best friend is Buck, who cries at anything remotely tearjerky, so in comparison, Eddie’s not a crier. Now, though, they’re both very much damp-cheeked, much like everyone else crowded into this hospital room, watching Maddie and Chim exchange rings and vows with little Jee between them.

They’re a family, have been and would still be even if they never got hitched, but the fact that Chim refused to wait another few weeks, another few days, another minute before marrying Maddie? Eddie’s chest aches in the best way, and he slings an arm around Chris, and, before he knows he’s doing it, he looks for Buck.

The ceremony’s over, and Buck’s grinning at his phone, and Eddie pats for his own automatically, anticipating a goofy text.

But Buck’s edging backward, slipping out of the room, still grinning at his phone, and the ache inside Eddie spreads like an inkstain, blotting his insides.

And then Buck reappears with Tommy, which Eddie knew he was going to do, because who else would have Buck smiling at his phone like that, leaving his sister’s wedding even for a minute. Not me, Eddie doesn’t think. He doesn’t.

He’s not ready to make sense of the churning inside him—he doesn’t think he can blame the hangover for this one—when he clocks Tommy’s soot-stained everything and the way Buck’s own smudgy face matches like a puzzle piece.

He sees the way Chim notices, and Hen and Karen, Bobby’s eyes going wide and then soft. He sees the way Margaret Buckley doesn’t even attempt to school her face into anything but distaste and he hates her, but Buck’s not even looking at her. He’s looking at Bobby, and then he’s looking at Chim, and he’s smiling, this wide, guileless spread of happiness across his face.

Eddie’s helpless to smile too, the churning too complicated to parse beyond easy joy at every step of Buck’s sexuality journey, and this second-hand relief he’s not sure he’s got any entitlement to—he doesn’t, does he? Sure, he can be relieved that Buck doesn’t feel like he has to stay closeted, that everyone who matters loves him just the same, but he doesn’t get to feel like any of the relief belongs to him. Not now.

Not—yet.

Tommy’s made his way to Chim’s bedside to congratulate them properly, and Buck’s squeezing through the guests to get to the Diazes.

“Hey, bud,” he says to Chris. “Hi, Isabel.”

His face is still a smear of soot, and Chris giggles. “Buck. Your face.”

Buck frowns in confusion and Eddie steps over to him, hand already reaching to wipe the soot off his face, just like he has a hundred times at work. Except Tommy’s already there, licking his thumb and rubbing firmly at Buck’s chin, a gesture so familiar to Eddie that watching it happen separate from him feels like getting punched in the throat.

And beside the joy and the second-hand relief, there’s—this sense of profound loss. This emptiness, a space inside him he didn’t realise Buck had been occupying all this time. And now it’s like Eddie’s entered the room, finally, but the door is swinging shut on the far wall and Buck’s footsteps are echoing softer and softer as he leaves. Eddie’s late, he’s missed something he didn’t know was waiting, much less had a timeline on it.

The room empties out slowly, everyone giving the Buckley-Hans some space to rest, and Buck disappears down the hall hand-in-hand with Tommy.

“Y’all ready to go home?” Eddie asks Abuela and Chris. “We can get take-out.”

“Is Buck coming?” Chris asks.

“Uh, I don’t think so, mijo,” Eddie glances down the hall. “Although—” he pats his pocket, retrieving the Jeep keys, and startles when Buck appears by his shoulder.

“You have my keys,” he informs Eddie, stretching his hand out for them. Eddie drops them in his palm dutifully. “Juice bar? The fancy one on Sunset.”

Chris whoops excitedly, and Eddie smiles, even as his brow furrows.

“You’ve not got a hot date?” he asks Buck quietly as they walk to the exit.

“I drove you,” Buck shrugs.

Eddie rolls his eyes, stopping Buck with a hand at his elbow. “I think we can manage getting a cab.”

“I seem to recall you promising me a ‘sweet, sweet smoothie,’” Buck says, raising an eyebrow at Eddie. “You tryna stiff me, Eds?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie lifts his hands in surrender. “Uh—do you wanna ask Tommy along?”

“Nah,” Buck says easily. “Maybe another time. He’s just gotten off shift. I’m seeing him tomorrow, anyway.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods slowly, ache bittersweet. “Just us, then.”

Buck beams. “Me and my boys,” he crows, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and tugging him forward so he can wrap the other one around Chris. Isabel makes a noise of offense, and Buck hastily amends, “Me and my boys and Abuela. Dream team!”

Christopher groans at the very public embarrassment and Abuela smiles indulgently at Buck and Eddie lets himself get pulled along, safe in this room in his heart that won’t ever be empty, even if Buck’s not filling it in the same capacity as Eddie’s getting ready to allow himself to want.

It doesn’t matter. The door on the far wall’s not quite swung shut after all; it sits ajar, crack of light and Buck’s love spilling through. Maybe one day he’ll come back through it. Maybe one day Eddie’ll follow after him enough to ask.

[iiseult]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜: 𝒜𝓈 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒥𝑒𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂

CWs →  fluff, ANGST, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism, arranged marriage, descriptions of birth (not the reader), blood and mild gore (they don’t call it the dark ages for nothin!), one-sided pining

Wordcount: 5.1k

Note: Remember like three weeks ago when I lied to you all and said I’d have this out in a few days? I had to plan out a bit of the actual plot so that’s what took me so long. But I finally did it, so eat up! Also, I really do NOT know how medieval royal weddings worked but the shallow google searches I made weren’t good enough so let’s all hope this isn’t horribly inaccurate, though I’m sure it is. Do we care, chat?

Every day leading up to the wedding was a day that you saw red. Greeting your traitorous mother in the mornings made you see red, sharing a meal with your power-hungry father made you see red, and listening to the two of them prattle on about how you ought to behave once you were queen? That turned the world absolutely crimson. Each night, you crumpled up and clutched your skirts under the dinner table with shaking fists, creasing them with deep wrinkles that would take days to iron out, but all the while you continued to hold your head high, speaking only when spoken to just as you were taught as a girl. Your strained, thin-lipped smile was only let go of in the privacy of your own bedchambers, when it was replaced with a cold expression and even chillier disposition. Somehow, drifting apart from your family day by day wasn’t as painful as you had imagined it would be. It was easy, really, because there was nothing left for anyone to talk about. After all, your mother had always taught you that if you had nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. However, your sudden “demureness and obedience”, as they put it, did not go unnoticed. 

Your parents were positively delighted with your recent change, or “improvement,” in attitude. Your lady mother congratulated you for finally agreeing to fulfill your societal role as a subservient wife and mother– an aspect of life of which you had previously been a bit resentful– and your father perpetually reminded you how beneficial this marriage would be to the rest of your bloodline. Even your younger brothers seemed excited for you, constantly coming up with new questions to pester you with regarding life as royalty. The only thing keeping you sane was the knowledge that soon you’d be living far, far away from your conniving parents, free to do whatever you wished. Whichever benefits a royal connection brought them would be nothing compared to your own guaranteed lavish lifestyle. You’d soon have your own castle, your own servants, and even your own soldiers! Oh, and the husband, too. You kept forgetting about that part. 

In some ways, the fact that he was a leper was a great relief to you. That meant you’d most likely be spared many of the wifely duties you had so been dreading; mainly, consummating the marriage. At your age, only 14 years old yet, there was nothing that interested you about the male body, giving birth, or raising children. It was not so long ago that you had helped raise your own little brothers, and the idea of going through all of that again made you feel so trapped. Not to mention the fact that giving birth was extremely dangerous. And painful. And frightening. That thought caused a memory you had been repressing for years to resurface from the depths of your mind, like a buoy in the ocean. It was the tortured screams of your mother the night your youngest brother was born. Had you not known better, you might have thought she was being ripped in two, and the labor lasted for so many endless, terrible hours, which felt more like days. You remembered the midwives rushing around, and the maids leaving your mother’s room with armful after armful of blood-soaked sheets and sloshing buckets of burgundy water. As they passed the place where you were hugging your knees in the corridor, a drop fell at your feet and sunk slowly into the stone floor, leaving nothing but a small round stain. 

Once it was time to leave your family home for the castle, you said goodbye to the view from your window, which you had become well-accustomed to. It was probably the thing you’d miss most, besides your brothers. You closed your bedroom door for the last time and meandered down the familiar, dimly-lit corridor, taking note of the particular stone which was still adorned by that tiny dot of brownish red. A shiver ran down your spine. You opted out of doing a final sweep to make sure you’d packed all of your belongings, because soon enough, you’d have better things to replace them with, anyway. The knights they’d sent for you had loaded your bags onto their horses about an hour ago and set off for your new home. Now, the only thing left to transport was you. 

Another knight was waiting for you outside with a large white horse. He watched as you hugged your mother and father stiffly, pretending not to notice your mother’s tears as she kissed you on the forehead like she used to when you were younger. Before you were a lady. Before you were the queen of Jerusalem. Your father said nothing, but his somber expression and the distant look in his eyes and the loose grip he had on your hand as he kissed the top of it told you everything you needed to know. The knight helped you mount the horse and get comfortable sitting behind him, and you waved goodbye to your family as you were carried away, truly intending it to be for everything you had ever known. But whatever sadness you might have been feeling was overpowered by sheer determination. Now, at 14 years old, your life was finally beginning.  

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The knight who sat in front of you on the horse did not turn out to be a very good conversationalist. The only responses you could draw out of him were along the lines of “Yes, Your Majesty,” or “No, Your Majesty.” You were hoping for someone a bit more…engaging, perhaps, as you were feeling an odd mixture of excitement and anxiety that grew with each and every gallop towards Jerusalem. And anxiety always made you talkative. 

“Is it fun at all, being a knight?” You shouted over the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, breaking the long silence that you had been enduring since the beginning of the journey. 

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“You know, protecting the kingdom and such. Isn’t it exciting? I find the idea to be absolutely thrilling! Don’t you think so?” 

He paused for a moment, and then replied flatly, “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

You pursed your lips, waiting in silence for a few moments, expecting him to elaborate, but no such luck. Was it really so hard to share a gory battle tale or two to pass the time? You knew knights were known for having excellent integrity and virtuousness, meaning they would never say something that could potentially scare a lady, but couldn’t he humor you just this once, while you were alone? But maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, you thought, imagining how burdensome it must be to know the feeling of cutting someone’s head off. So, you graciously changed the subject and mentally patted yourself on the back for being so kind and just. It simply wouldn’t do, as future queen of Jerusalem, to force sensitive information out of this poor, traumatized knight for your own fleeting amusement. Maybe a few months earlier and it would have been acceptable, but alas. You sighed.

“This noble steed of yours is breathtaking. Does he have a name?” you questioned, admiring the animal’s snow-white pelt, entranced by the way its powerful muscles rippled beneath it.

“I do not know, Majesty. This horse belongs to the king. It is the only one His Majesty trusts, so he instructed me to collect you using it.” Another memory flashed through your mind, this time of your first meeting with your future husband. He had been riding this very horse that day, its stunning color matching that of his robes. Your heart fluttered at the idea that he’d cared so deeply for your safety, although it shouldn’t have surprised you. It was not as if he had parents forcing him into this marriage. He was accepting you in holy matrimony for some other reason, a reason entirely of his own. His own choice. A blush crept up the back of your neck, and you were suddenly thankful for the fact that the knight was facing away from you. You cleared your throat nervously. 

“Well, what’s it like, working for the king? Is he nice?” 

You felt the knight’s huge sigh before you heard it, your arms that were wrapped around his midsection rising and falling in tandem with the breath. 

“Yes, Your Majesty, the king is very…nice.”

“Is that all?” you muttered, rolling your eyes at his reservedness. You got the hint. You understood he didn’t want to talk, that much he had made very apparent, but that was just too damn bad. As queen of Jerusalem, you wanted to get to know your subjects, and who better to start with than the one sharing a horse with you? 

“Will I have my own chambers, or shall I share with the king?” You asked, holding back a giggle at the expression you were imagining the knight had on his face. 

“I am sure you will be provided with your own chambers, Your Majesty, but the choice of whether to use them or not will be entirely yours and your husband’s,” he replied, a hint of dry humor in his voice. You let out a loud laugh, which actually startled him a little, and then followed it up with another. 

“I wonder if he snores!” you said, between giggles. The knight smiled, shaking his head. After that, the journey to Jerusalem was easy. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The next time you laid eyes on the king was when you were getting married, standing opposite each other in an architectural marvel of a cathedral, both dressed in extravagant clothing and expensive jewelry. His silver mask had recently been polished, and it shone beautifully in the sun, but still not as beautifully as his blue eyes. They were as you remembered them, only a bit brighter. His gold-trimmed robes were as white as ever, freshly washed and perfumed for the occasion. Even the gloves on his hands looked new and clean. You admired them as the priest rambled on in front of you. If God was listening right now, you thought, he’d surely be bored to tears. There was one part of the day you had enjoyed, though, which was the preparation for the wedding. You had been doted on by countless maids all morning, lining your eyes with black powder and weaving your hair into an intricate, interlocking braid pattern. The gown was altered to fit you perfectly, and the large, bell-like sleeves fell around your arms like wings. You were finally beginning to feel like a real queen. 

The ceremony seemed to drag on forever, but you passed the time by maintaining eye contact with King Baldwin. You drowned out the rest of the world and focused only on him. When you smiled, he smiled back. You could only see the corners of his eyes crinkling, but you knew what that meant. You cocked your head to the side, trying to imagine what his smile really looked like. During that evening you spent with him, you hadn’t gotten the chance to see it. Just as soon as he had taken off the mask, he had to put it back on. The consequences of your parents seeing Baldwin’s face would have been disastrous, but thankfully, their loud footsteps and jovial voices had carried quite well down the corridor, warning you of their arrival. Regardless of how short they were, those few seconds you’d spent admiring his bare face were enough to conjure up a half-formed image of what his smile might look like. However, that image disappeared when you saw him cock his head to the side, too, just as you had. You blinked twice. 

He blinked twice, too. 

Was he copying you on purpose? 

You shifted your feet, and he mirrored you, his robes shimmering like the ocean as they fluttered around him. You bit back a giggle. He was. Flames of mischief danced in his eyes, and something else, too, ignited there when you grinned at him. 

“…that these rings shall forever remained blessed, O Merciful Lord. Amen,” said the priest, approaching the king with a book, two rings laid on top of it. Suddenly, Baldwin became very serious, plucking one of the rings between his slender, gloved fingers and holding it gently. You stared as it glistened in the sunlight, which was penetrating the stained glass windows and casting colorful shadows around the altar. He slowly stepped towards you, making your heart begin to beat faster. His head stayed bowed as he presented you with his open palm. You held your breath and lifted your left hand, gingerly brushing your fingertips against his palm, now understanding what was about to happen. He effortlessly glided the ring onto your fourth finger, where it rested beautifully. The diamond glittered like water, mesmerizingly. Baldwin wrapped his fingers around your hand, now holding it as gently as he could, and the priest was now presenting you with a ring. You followed Baldwin’s lead, pushing it onto his fourth finger, which was waiting outstretched for you patiently. You stood mere inches apart, fingers of your left hands interwoven as the priest finished the prayers. The ring, as breathtaking as it was, was somehow still only secondary to the cerulean eyes of your now-husband, which were like two rich sapphires lined with delicate blonde hairs. 

“…And may God bless, preserve, and keep you, that you may have life and love everlasting. I pronounce that you now be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The cathedral filled with polite claps and murmurs of “amen” as Baldwin released your hand and you turned to face the pews. Next to you, much to your surprise, he quickly dropped to his knees, his body angled towards you, clasping your fair hand between his. You gazed down at him through your lashes, suddenly feeling your cheeks burn. Boldly, Baldwin drew one hand up to his masked face, grasping it by the nose and swiftly pulling it to the side so that it was hiding his face from the crowd, but revealing it to you. He lifted your hand to his pink lips and pressed a searing kiss to it, liberally letting the physical contact linger, all the while maintaining eye contact with you from under his furrowed brow. You covered your mouth with your other hand to try and hide the toothy grin spreading across your face. He saw it anyway. The next thing you knew, he was grinning, too. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laughed. He laughed. You realized that you no longer had to imagine what his smile looked like. 

After the wedding ceremony, you were promptly bombarded by happy civilians wishing to congratulate you, or simply to catch a glimpse of their new queen, and Baldwin was whisked away by his mother, who seemed to be perpetually by his side. It seemed that she was not quite ready yet to surrender the role of Baldwin’s caretaker to you– but you had no gripes with that. You figured you’d grow into the role of loving, doting wife, as opposed to starting it right away, and unfortunately, the idea of changing his bandages each night before bed still made you shudder. In reality, his mother was not exactly thrilled about the marriage, either. She hadn’t found you or your family quite noble enough for her precious son. However, she was smart enough to see that it was unlikely that anyone else would ever volunteer their daughter to marry a leper, so she begrudgingly allowed the union. 

From the crowd, two plainly dressed women had introduced themselves to you as Matilda and Amelia, claiming that they were to be your servants. They would apparently be with you at all times, tending to your every whim and aiding you during your ascent to the throne, as well as bathing you and dressing you. Matilda was an older, more severe woman who had immediately intimidated you; her lips were drawn together thinly and permanently pursed, creating deep wrinkles around her mouth, and the rest of her face was an intricate web of creases and lines. Her graying hair was pulled back tightly, exposing her thinning hairline and sun-spotted forehead. Even her hands looked harsh, the skin rough and dry, cracking in some places, like mud that had been baking under the summer sun for too long. Amelia was quite the opposite; a timid, pretty young thing with wide brown eyes, fair hair, and a delicate frame. She’d barely had the courage to tell you her name, and rushed into the curtsey to avoid having to make eye contact with you for too long. She seemed to be around the same age as you, if not even younger.

After the attendees from the wedding had mostly dispersed, Matilda brought you back inside the castle to finally see your bedchamber, which you were to have all to yourself. She and Amelia led you through winding corridors and beautiful flowering courtyards, pointing out all the most significant landmarks along the way, such as the great hall, the kitchen, the maid’s chambers, the library, the chapel, the towers, the gardens, and the hundreds of guest bedrooms with conjoined washrooms. The last thing she showed you before your own room was the king’s quarters, which were directly across from yours. 

“Now, Amelia, go draw us a bath. There’s no need for two of us to be standing around here idly while the Queen inspect her chambers,” she ordered, and Amelia nodded, scurrying away to the washroom silently. 

As Matilda threw open the giant oak doors of your room, you couldn’t help but gasp, suddenly rooted to the spot. It was glorious. Taking up the majority of the room was a massive bed with four handsome posts, all carved with intricate floral patterns and stained a deep brown. The mattress was topped with overly-stuffed burgundy throw pillows and a comforter to match. Connecting to the four posts was a frame, from which wine-colored velvet curtains hung to give you some privacy. The same fabric was used to shroud the windows, which were floor-length and leaded. At the foot of the bed lay a pile of bags and wrapped items– all of your belongings from home! On the wall across from them was a large dressing table, covered in jewels and precious metals and bottles of fine-smelling oils. A small, round stool with a cushion on it sat underneath. Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and you couldn’t help but abandon Matilda in the doorway, running and throwing yourself face-first onto the bed, just like you used to at home. You giggled and kicked your feet up into the air, unsurprisingly beginning to sink into the plush mattress. Immediately, you felt your body melt against the malleable, pillowy surface, deciding that you definitely approved of its fine quality. Your bed from back home simply couldn’t compare. However, your glee was short-lived, because it was abruptly interrupted by a stern voice. 

“Your Majesty! You must cease this behavior at once and right yourself! That wedding gown is priceless, and you mustn’t risk causing it any damage!” Matilda scolded, pulling you up by the arm and frantically kneeling to check the delicate garment for any possible tears or imperfections. You winced and apologized quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your juvenile behavior. She was right. As a matter of fact, most things in the palace were probably priceless, and it wouldn’t do to act so impulsively, to be so unladylike. Even you, in your youth, knew better than that. You crossed your arms over your chest, beginning to feel rather insecure upon realizing just how much you had to learn about life as royalty. 

“Come, child, it is time to undress. You must be bathed and prepared for your wedding night,” Matilda called, holding out a hand, her voice much more soft and gentle this time.

You gulped, not wanting to think about that, preferring to cross that bridge when you got to it. She bustled over to the magnificent dressing table, pulling out the stool for you to sit on. You obliged, seating yourself in front of her and watching in the mirror as her spindly fingers deftly unwound your intricate braids. It was relaxing, the feeling of her experienced hands nimbly dancing around your scalp, so you let the buildup of tension from the day slowly seep out of your muscles, loosening up more and more every second that passed. Soon, she was finished, and helped you to your feet, ordering you to keep your arms out straight as she undressed you. She pulled out pins from here and there, untied laces all around, and in a matter of minutes you were ready for your bath. 

The water was warm and steaming as you stepped in, your skin breaking out into goosebumps at the feeling. Rose petals floated across the surface of the water, giving the entire washroom a fresh scent. As you expected, Amelia was waiting for you silently, brush in hand, ready to scrub you vigorously from head to toe. You braced yourself, expecting the rough bristles to be painful, but once she began working attentively, it wasn’t so bad at all. Yes, they were scratchy, but that’s exactly what you needed to get rid of all the dirt and dead skin. She lathered you in delicate smelling soap and added some more fragrant oils to the water, letting you soak until your skin had absorbed all the moisture it possibly could. Not a single inch of you was neglected by the time the water had grown cold, at which point you got out and were dried with a fluffy white towel. 

Next, you were ushered back into your chambers and changed into a pretty blue gown made of satin, which apparently “complimented the color of the kings’ eyes perfectly,” according to Matilda. You felt your gut twist at the mention of him, at the prospect of being alone in a room with him and that piercing gaze again. Now that you were man and wife, everything was different. You had a duty to fulfill, and it seemed to be unavoidable, despite how young and vulnerable you were. Despite how averse to it you might be. Your mother had told you all about it, about how it would only last a few minutes if you were lucky, and that you just had to breathe deeply and count the seconds until it was over. How it happened to every woman at some point in her life, and that what follows would be completely and utterly worth every second of endurance. How rewarding it was to raise a child, or two children, or as many as your womb could bear. But no matter how much you tried to reassure yourself, you were still scared. You didn’t want that yet. You were only 14. 

But before attending to your marital duties, first, there was dinner. You were seated at the complete opposite end of the table as Baldwin, as far as physically possible away from him, despite the fact that he was the only person there you had ever spoken to. You were too far away to be able to tell if he was even looking at you from under his mask. Next to him was his mother, who proceeded to shoot you sideways glances the entire night. The rest of the table was filled with noble men and women whom you did not recognize, their titles unfamiliar to you and the lands they hailed from even more obscure. You picked at your food and tried to stay as silent as possible to avoid making a mockery of yourself on your first night as Queen of Jerusalem. Sooner than you had hoped, dinner had concluded, and you were taken aside by Matilda, who pulled you into an empty corridor as the guests began filtering out of the castle. 

“Child, do you know what is expected of you on your wedding night?” She asked, her voice low so that nobody except the two of you could hear the subject matter at hand. You took a deep breath and straightened you back in an attempt to appear more mature, before replying, 

“Yes, I will lie down and be still and hope that I am blessed with a child.” 

The woman smiled at you and clasped your shoulder, seemingly approving of your answer. 

“Exactly right, my dear. The king will call on you when he is ready, so you may go back to your room and occupy your time with an activity of your choosing until you are collected.” 

You nodded solemnly and thanked her before slowly making your way back to your room, trying to take as long as possible in an attempt to actually slow down time. Upon deeper reflection during this walk, you came to the conclusion that it was not being alone with the king that you were afraid of, but rather the act of consummating the marriage, which was, of course, something he had every right to do with you that night. It was the correct course of action. It was what all newlyweds did, no matter how young and afraid they were. Did he know what he was doing, you wondered, or was he just as oblivious as you? You couldn’t imagine the young king being oblivious about much of anything, in all honesty. He was far too intelligent– something you had seen for yourself over that game of chess. 

Once you arrived at your room, Amelia was waiting at the door for you, an even more wide-eyed look on her face than usual. Uh oh, you thought to yourself. 

“His Majesty the King has requested your presence in his chambers, Your Highness,” she said quietly, bowing her head as she spoke. How did he get here so fast? You thought to yourself, terror rising in your chest. Amelia watched in half fear and half amusement as you frantically wiped your clammy hands on the bodice of your dress and ran your fingers through your hair, which was cascading down your shoulders freely. She was young, too, and unwed, and the idea of a wedding night was something that made her stomach churn as well, so she offered you a sympathetic look and watched as you dragged your feet across the hall, knocking on the imposing oak doors of the king’s bedchambers. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Baldwin had never been so jittery in his life. As he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for you to arrive, he fidgeted with his gloves, pulling them off by the fingers and then pulling them on again, over and over. All throughout dinner he had been gazing across the table at you, ignoring his mother’s neverending ranting as you stared down at your plate. Though you were only a blue blur with a vaguely maidenlike shape from where he was sitting, he was still completely enchanted, his heart beating in his throat every time you looked up in his general direction. He wondered if you could tell he was looking at you. Since the hour you were wed, he was able to think of nothing but you; your dazzling smile, your gorgeous hair, your playful sense of humor, the way the light in the cathedral illuminated your eyes. As the servants bathed him in strong-smelling medicinal herbs and wrapped the raw areas of skin with fresh bandages, he daydreamed about your voice, your laugh. And now, as he sat on the edge of his bed, awaiting your imminent arrival, he thought of practically everything except you. 

He panicked about the state of his body, the pressure of consummating a marriage, the burden of fathering a child at such a young age. He panicked about the weight of ruling an entire kingdom all by himself, no longer able to entrust the brunt of the work to Raymond, and of being a suitable husband. He panicked about how many years he might even have left, if his illness continued to progress. But every worry, every fear, every doubt left his mind as soon as he heard you knock on his door. 

He leapt to his feet, hastily pulling his left glove all the way back on and bounding over to the door, throwing it open wide with a grin on his face, to reveal… you, standing there, gaunt and sweating, looking like you had just suffered a bout of cholera. The smile on his face fell a bit, but it couldn’t be wiped completely clean. At least he could finally be with his bride, his love, his queen. 

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you murmured, your head bowed, pointing down at your shoes, as well as the freshly polished ones directly across from you. 

“Good evening, my Queen,” he breathed, heart beating quickly as you shuffled into his room. He closed the door behind you, letting it shut with a ‘click’ before following you over to the middle of the room, where you hovered like a ghost, still staring at the ground and clasping your hands tightly in front of you. A tense, silent moment passed, and still, you didn't move. Whatever was left of his smile faded from his unmasked face, and the panic from earlier began to return, crashing over him in icy waves. Why wouldn’t you look at him? He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from leg to leg. 

“Are you feeling very well tonight, my lady?” He asked tentatively, shuffling a bit closer. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly turned, stiltedly making your way over to the bed. 

“Let’s just get this started then, shall we?” You said tersely, laying down on your back on the plush covers and screwing your eyes shut tightly. 

“I am ready.” 

King Baldwin stared at you blankly, frozen in the middle of the room, and completely panicking. No, no, no, this was all wrong, this was not how he wanted it to go…he absolutely did not want to force you into it, to do anything you didn’t also want…and you clearly didn't want it. You were lying there, as stiff as a board. This was the final straw for him.

He wasn’t ready for it yet either, he decided. He would just have to lie to his mother. When she discovered that the queen was, in fact, not pregnant, he would blame it on his own body, claiming to be infertile. It was probably true, at any rate. He took a deep breath, feeling shame and embarrassment at not being able to consummate his own marriage rise to his cheeks, and spoke three words, 

“You may go,” 

And those were the last three words he spoke to you for the next three years. 

Note: I'll give you a kiss if you can count how many times I reference you being the "Queen of Jerusalem" in this chapter.

[misguidedasgardian]

The Hour of the Wolf (5)

V. Fire & Ice

MASTERLIST

Summary: You are settling in your throne 

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats, arranged marriage, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon, smut! finally, I’m calling dub-con, because its their first time and we are nervous, loss of virginity, a bit of blood, and all that comes with it… nothing too extreme

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 4.3 k 

Notes: uffff things are getting heated

“I want my hair loose”, you said faintly, as the maids nodded with shy smiles, as they brushes your silver strands 

Your dress was magnificent

A black background with red and golden intricate designs, open sleeves from your shoulders that had a beautiful drop, a low neckline.

The jewelry was exquisite, your neck was decorated with a golden dragon that curled around you, your wrists and fingers with gold as well, in your heart finger, you had a ring that belonged to your mother. 

“Your grace”, called in Ser Erryk, “the Lord hand and Lord Celtigar, both want to see you”, you barely nodded.

Both men entered the room and you watched them through the mirror, as they saw you they stopped in their tracks, their mouths open, but they regained their composure quickly

“In this day your grace, we have something for you”, said Lord Celtigar, who had brought a beautifully decorated box with him. You turned around in your chair, to be presented with said gift.

Cregan stood behind him, giving him space, as Celtigar theatrically bowed, and opened the box and showed you the insides

You gasped when you saw it, tears threatening to fall as you covered your mouth

“How? Where did you find it?”, you asked, your throat in a knot

“A low-life was trying to sell it in the docks of Claw Island”, he said softly

Your mother’s… and well… Jahaerys’ crown

When your mother rebels and traitors swarmed the capital and threatened the life of your mother, she had to flee and hide all over the Crownlands… and to be able to return to Dragonstone, she had to sell the crown

A sad tale… but in the end…

They had brought it back to you

“You will be crowned with the crown of the conciliator”, said Cregan, “with your mother’s crown, and King Viserys and King Jahaerys before her”

“Thank you”, you murmured, a single tear scaping you

“You look gorgeous, your grace”, said Reysen

“Thank you”

“I’ll give the crown to the master of ceremonies”, muttered Cregan, and you only nodded

They left once more, and the maids kept brushing your hair 

“More reason to have my hair loose”, you said softly and they nodded with wide smile on their faces

You were nervous, to say the least, it had been a long, nerve-wrecking week, in which you had met so many people you barely remember their faces, they had asked much things from you

And now you were getting crowned 

Once you were ready, you asked the maids to leave, and they did

You watched yourself in the mirror, as tears started pouring down your cheeks

“Gods!”, you cried, falling to your arms folded over the dresser

You would give all of this in a heartbeat to have them back… at least one of them… only one… luke…. or Jace… or your mama

The door opened but you didn’t want to see who it was, you waiting for whoever it was to leave, but that didn’t happen

You felt two strong hands grab you and turn you, and in a second your face was against a soft velvet vest, a hand in your hair

“Shhh, everything is alright”, you whined when you heard it was cregan, hugging you tightly, “it’s all alright, I’m right here, with you…”

“I wish they were here”, you whined like a little girl

“I know, I know”, he whispered against the top of your hair

“I would give everything”, you insisted, like he was the god of death capable of doing such exchange 

“I know”, he repeated softly, “they are ready for you, my sweet queen, it’s time… to make everyone proud up there, to shout to all corners of the seven kingdoms, that you, the last dragon, are still here, in honor of your mother, and your older brother”, you barely nodded, finally raising your head to look at him

“To tell all those sons of bitches that the blacks won. and you are alive and well, and they lost…”, you smiled as you wiped your tears. “I’m going to be there, by your side, or behind you, wherever you need me, i’m here…”

You needed him, Cregan realized, and not only to help you rule the kingdom, no, you needed him in a more intimate way… you were only a young woman, who lost everything, he had agreed to marry you, appealing to the power both of you held, but he could tell, that was not enough, in the intimacy you were both going to have, you were going to need more

So he leaned in, and kissed you

Just a peck, on the lips, as he held you softly by the face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, you leaned in gently, softly, and when you parted, he could see it in your eyes

In your still innocent eyes

You needed more from him…

You needed a husband, and a protector, a defender, a champion, a knight in shining armor…

And he was going to pick up that mantel

When Cregan stood up and give his back to you to open the door and start the procession, you touched your lips that were still warm, and smiled gently

Your first kiss… your first real kiss…

Cregan turned back to you and offered you his hand, you took it without thinking.

He had proved once again you could lean on him with ease, he was not going to turn on you, or judge you, or tell anyone… from this day forwards, he was in this with you, by your side… as your partner, as your King consort and Hand, as your husband in a few weeks, as your everything

The very thought frightened and excited you at the same time

He released you as soon as you came into the hallway, but you walked side by side, in complete silence, towards the throne room

The great doors were closed, and he looked at you intently

“I will take place by the throne, you will enter alone”, you barely nodded, “are you alright?”

“Yes”, you said shortly, he only nodded in turn, and he left you to enter the ceremony through one of the side passageways.

You just looked at the detail of the large wooden doors, playing with your fingers ahead of you

You were getting crowned, you were getting married soon, you were ruling a country because you were already of age… It was so many things… and you were alone at the top, with no senior to guide you, nobody you completely trusted… no… father or mother figure 

Only Cregan

You took a long breath

You weren’t even nervous… you were longing to get this over with, your hands were sweaty and your feet already hurt for the shoes even though beautiful 

Soon the music started, and the doors opened slowly, to reveal you to the room, people gasped and cheered for you, as you started walking slowly towards the end… towards…

The Iron throne

It was there, surrounded by spikes, melted swords of the enemies oft he house of the dragon

The cause of such bloodshed 

The cause of the annihilation of your family.

All those plots… from the greens, all that coin and gold, armies, and at the end

You smiled widely

The blacks had won, you had won, your mother’s blood will sit on the iron Throne

Screw them

If you could, you would dance over his graves… if only there were enough remains of them to bury…

You climbed both steps of stone before the throne, as discussed, and you turned to the people, a golden cape moving behind you

“Our new Queen!”, chanted Erryk

Your small council was there, the Grand maester brought, in a red velvet cushion, the golden crown of Jaehaerys The Old King

“With the crown of the conciliator, we crown you”, chanted the master of ceremonies, he took the crown, raised it for everyone to see, and then he turned to you and he placed it gently atop your head. It felt… good… the weight rather than bother you, it felt like it grounded you 

“Queen (Y/N) of house Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, the last dragon, the unkillable, and like your ancestor before you… the conciliator”, he said firmly 

People applauded, cheered for you, as Cregan Stark moved forwards and took your hand softly, helping you up the treacherous steps until you sat on the Iron throne 

The throne was cold and uncomfortable under you, but you sat straight, holding onto the arm rests softly 

“Long live the Queen!”, he demanded of everyone, and again, they cheered and chanted your name for long minutes you thought were never going to end

After that was done, they paraded you to greet the people of Kinglanding that were gathered at the gates, with chants of your name, and everyone wanted to reach out to you…

There were so many people there, in the throne room, lords from houses you haven’t even heard of before, and the streets were packed, so packed, so many people screaming, reaching for you.

It came out of nowhere, you lost your footing, but before you could collapse, Creganw as there to grab you from your waist.

“The Queen, and future King consort of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord Cregan Stark!”, presented Eryk and then the people really lost it, screaming in delight, as the lords gasped behind you inside the walls of the Red Keep

Soon the doors to the exterior closed, and you were again inside the safety of the castle, With Cregan by your side, grabbing you by the waist.

“The marriage will take place in a week”, said Cregan to the new founded court, and everyone clapped once again, some of themes haring looks of concern amongst one another

Then he looked at you

You haven't discussed this, not at all

He had made that decision for you 

You didn’t know what to think or feel 

“So soon?”, you asked when you had him by your side, in the banquet for the celebration of your coronation

“Yes, everyone is here”, he said gently, “there had been rumors… of me… of us, gathering at late hours, I think is better to do it as soon as possible”, he said gently, you barely nodded

You had barely turn ten and eight a few moons ago, alone, trapped in your room

You took a shaky breath

Yes, you needed to get married, but you never thought it was going to be this soon! You talked about it, you understand the need, and that night when you summoned Cregan to your rooms, you knew it was happening

But one week?

You only stole looks at Cregan and you nodded, you then turn to your left, to your baby brother, who smiled softly at you, but the smile, just like yours, didn’t quite reach his eyes

He had seen so much

You too

Aegon didn’t even let you cover his eyes when he had his dragon eat your mother alive before your very eyes, and his eyes

Your brother was traumatized for life and there was nothing you could do to help him

One time, a few days ago, you tried to take him flying with you…

You had to hide the claw marks he left in your arms. He had scratch you to release him, in the midst of screeches and cries as soon as he saw your dragon in the distance

He was terrified of them now

“What’s on your mind?”, you heard Cregan ask beside you, you barely looked at him

“My baby brother”, you confessed, there was no point in lying 

You looked around the room and you found all of the great houses dining and feasting, all of them but two

The Hightowers and the Velaryons

You took a long breath

Corlys as Baela had requested audiences with you, and you had denied them

You didn’t hate Baela, nor Rhaena, she had a dragon egg now… but…

It was bitter

You had lived with them since you were about ten, when your mother married Daemon, they were, for some time, your step-sisters, and even that, they were… your aunts? you didn’t even know… 

But seeing them got you a bittersweet sentiment, perhaps because they were the survivors of all this madness, alongside with you… but the truth you would admit to yourself late at night… is that you would have traded them for your brothers anyday

You were resentful, that they were the ones to survive and not your siblings…

They had a life ahead of them, a grandfather that literally killed a King for them, to guide them and protect them

A man that betrayed your mother

She had grown resentful and paranoid, yes, but he turned his back on her when she needed him the most

You didn’t believe you could forgive him.

You were not a Velaryon, not by blood, and now, that you become Queen, not by name either… he never treated you as one, so that was it

You wanted to keep him at arm’s length 

But you didn’t even realized… that there was another house absent front he festivities

You were glad to see the capital boasting with life, like the days of old, like when you wee young and you were living in the good days of your grandfather King Viserys

A tourney had been organized, as competitions and festivities, and even though you found it dreadful, there you were… granting so many favoors you had your ladies and even servants braiding new ones each hour….

Perhaps all the knights in there, at least, most of them, asked for your crown of red roses and dark green leaves and golden feathers.

At the end, you were crowned the Lady of Love and Beauty by the winner, a Knight from the Vale. You watched your small council closely, and they all seemed pleased

Telling constantly how much the people were taking to you, how much they loved you even

Their new, young, beautiful Queen

The bards were singing songs about your beauty and your strength, no doubt they had been paid handsomely to do so

You felt… powerful

You sat in the most dangerous yet important seat of the realm, you had the last grown dragon on earth. 

You felt good, in control… until…

Until the day of your wedding.

Cregan had not accepted a marriage in the Sept, he did not follow the faith of the seven, and neither did you, so you accepted to be married in the godswood, by the heartree

It was going to create controversy, the small council said

But fuck the faith, the seven pointed star, and the heraldry that replaced all the dragons in the capital thanks to Alicent fucking HIghtower, and that you had already commanded to replace back to the likeness of your own dragon, and the three headed dragon of your house 

You were waiting for one word, one revolt, one bad new from the citadel to burn it to a crisp… luckily, it had been none

You thought they knew it as well, that you were looking for an excuse to do the same thing Maegor the cruel did

So the day of your wedding came quickly.

And as the maids braided your hair in a Northerner style, then, you felt nervous. Truly, nerve wrecking nervousness makes your hands shake.

You were about to be married… to Cregan Stark

A rough, authoritative man,a handsome and strong man, a man who was going to go back and forth and leave you for months at a time, perhaps years, but…

“Everything is going to be alright”, murmured the sweet maid, one that had served you since you were a child, manage to survive the Greens, she smiled at you through the mirror

“Thank you”, you whispered

“He is a kind man, and I have no doubt he will care for you”, she said with a complacent smile, and you only smiled widely 

“I know he will”

“If you’d allow me, your grace… your mother would have been proud”, she said then, and that brought tears to your eyes

“Thank you”, you cried with a smile on your face

You had married an entire continent last week, promising to give your life in service to the crown and the countries that were under your reign, and now… you were going to give your body… to another

To a man

Septas had taught you what you needed to know -according to them- about marriage, of how a woman must serve her husband, about you had to lay on your shared bed and let him do what he needed to do, bed you, breed you, how it was a woman’s job to have his husband’s children and heirs…

Of course you were nine at the time, your mother when she found out dismissed the Septa, fought hard with Alicent, saying that over her dead body she was going to allow the Old Queen to take charge of your education ever again

That was fun to watch, scary, but fun, to see your mother so protective and angry

And then you discovered “how babies were made”, by not by your mother in a nice chat or anything really, you discovered it the funny way, with your brothers and stepsisters, sneaking off the Castle in Dragonstone and going to the town, following soldiers to pleasure houses, then you were thirteen 

And then stealing racy books from the library 

But this was no time to think about that

You stood up, already dressed, your hair done, no much jewelry, only a nice beautiful white dress, yes it was the wedding of the Queen, but you had been celebrating your coronation for a week now, the Kingdoms had just been through a gruesome war, it was not fair, for them, for you to spend so much

Your wedding, a banquet afterwards, and baskets filled with food that were to be distributed through the streets of King’s Landing

And Cregan… well

He was nervous as well, more like, getting it over with already…

The sooner you settled in, with the throne and in your marriage, the better 

He fixed the silver velvet vest on him, and the large gold chain they had made him wear, it was a warm day, and his pants, he felt them too tight, as he was waiting for you in the Godswood. Was he doing the right thing?

He was going to be in the depths of one of the things he hated the most…

Politics

When he gathered his army and marched south in search of “justice”, this was not what he expected, to the the second most powerful person in all the realms

It was a constant thought, he never, in a million years, would hope he was going to end up here, waiting for…

He raised his head when they announced you

There you were

All his doubts disappeared

You looked… breathtakingly beautiful, positively godly

Not intimidating, like an empress of an old dynasty on the day of your coronation, now… you looked like the embodiment of a god of the waters or snow itself, made flesh… Dressed in a beautiful white dress, no much finery but only you, your hair arranged in a 

Northerner way that made him smile. Now his pants were truly tight

Tyland Lannister was escorting you

As soon as he had you within grasp, he grabbed your hands and accommodated you by his side, facing his commander of his army, an old man from house Mormont. 

“Who comes before the old Gods on this day?”, asked the tall man

“(Y/N), of House Targaryen”, presented Tyland, with his deep voice, summoning complete silence from everyone present. “She comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn, and noble. She comes to beg for the blessing of the Gods, who is here to claim her?”, he asked almost defiantly, looking at Cregan, who took a step forward

“I Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I come here this day before the gods, to claim this lady, who gives her away?”, he asked

“I, Tyland Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, and Warden of the West”, he said firmly, releasing you right next to Cregan, you both looked at him and smiled, and then turned to the man presiding the ceremony

“My lady, (Y/N) of House Targaryen, do you take this man?”, he asked

“Yes”, you answered, it came more gently than you expected, “I take this man”, you said loudly and almost enthusiastically, and you felt people chuckling, and bit your lip, embarrassed. But the man presiding the ceremony smiled at you, and your now husband, grabbed your hand in his big one

“So Cregan Stark, take your wife, Lady (Y/N) now, of House Stark”, he said, and Cregan was on you in a second, he cradled your face in one of his hands, you looked up at him and your eyes met his, just for a second before you closed them since he leaned in and trapped your lips into his. You tried to relax into the kiss, your second kiss ever, with now your husband

Those closest, members of courts and Lords and Ladies from the noblest houses applauded, the gardens filled with all of them, you separated from Cregan and greeted them 

“My beautiful lady wife”, he whispered in your ear, making you smile at him

Gods he was handsome, especially with hat devilish smile

And you were married to him

Despite your secret wishes, the day went incredibly fast, and before you knew it, you were being led to your chambers… not the King’s… meaning yours, but others… Cregan’s… tonight, you were not a Queen, but a lady wife, the way it was supposed to be

The small council, and others Lords and Ladies followed you closely, but as soon as you were inside the room, Cregan stood up, shielding you from them 

“Out”, he demanded, surprising you

“But my lord… the bedding ceremony…”, stammered Tyland

“I don’t care”, he said, and you then stepped out…

“No bedding ceremony”, you said firmly, and that was enough for them to leave you alone

Alone with your husband…

You looked at him nervously, he turned softly, to look at you.

You looked around in turn, recognizing these rooms immediately, these were the rooms Cregan was using now, but before they belonged to…

He moved slowly, his eyes on you, you looked back at him

“If this marriage is going to work, I need to make something very clear”, he said seriously, he came at you quickly, and grabbed you, his hand was so big against you that with only one he placed it at the side of your neck and face, he grabbed you softly but decisively, and make you look at him, “out there, you are the Queen, but here? inside this room? as soon as you step inside, you are mine”, he growled, and he smirked when he saw your pupils enlarged, “you are my dutiful lady wife, mine to command, mine to guide, mine to bed, mine to breed, am I clear?”, he asked with an authoritative voice that made your legs shake, you nodded, your eyes not leaving his, but they betrayed you. You were a bit scared of his words. He caressed your cheek, “mine”, he said, this time more softly, “mine to cherish, mine to care for, mine to love, mine to make love to…”, your eyes shined with excitement then and you smiled brightly at him 

“Love?”, you asked as you were a little girl

“Would you like all those things?” He asked, his playfulness and rough eyes returning to him as he made you tilt your head back slightly. You managed to nod

 “Your words, my love”

“Yes Cregan”, you whispered 

“Inside this room, I’m your Lord husband”, he commanded severely

“Yes my lord husband”, you corrected quickly 

“Good girl”, he leaned on and trapped your lips on his on a fervent kiss, you were barely able to catch up, the third time you had kissed Cregan… this time was different, this time, there was nothing to prevent you from… escalating the kiss

“Do you want to consummate the marriage now?”, he asked, and you barely nodded, “your words wife”

“yes husband”, you barely said, looking into his eyes, he only smile, but didn’t kiss you again, his lips instead, traveled south 

You moaned softly, feeling his lips suck on a very tender spot in your neck

“In this room, we are husband and wife only, only us, two people, joined for life”

“Only us”, you whispered, with expert hands, he undoed your dress, letting it fall to the floor, he even undressed himself, as you didn’t even know where to start. He didn’t push you, he did all the work, as you were so nervous, terribly nervous.

He laid you on the bed covering you with his large body.

He kissed everywhere he could reach, he caressed your skin, making you shiver, moan, and spread your legs even further for him… You didn’t even know someone else could make you feel like this…

You tried to caress him in turn, his upper arms, his shoulders, his side, his mouth returned to yours, as his fingers worked you open for him…

The voice of the septa wouldn’t stop resounding in your head… you laid there, let him do his things, you wouldn’t know what to do anyways… and in turn… he made you feel the most exquisite pleasure… that you had never felt before…

When he entered you, you dropped a few tears from the sudden and sharp pain, but then, after he soothed you and gave you time to adjust to his size… he fucked you slowly, delicately, gently, holding you in his arms, and kissing all over your face and neck

You could tell he was holding up… from doing more things to you… but if only that night, he was exactly what you needed.

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[mywritingonlyfans]

Teacher's pet. // Prof! Alex Turner X Stud! Reader (Smut) Part 2 of 3.

prompt: (Age Gap/Smut) Alex, an undergraduate professor, wasn't known for his friendliness until he found himself gradually warming up to you. Your remarkable writing skills, particularly directed at his class, heightened his interest even further. He's determined to show you firsthand just how talented you are, even if the journey is challenging. Eventually, both of you realize that resisting this connection is futile, and you must let go of your inhibitions to explore what lies ahead.

words: 9K.

a/n: I'll need to add one more part, I hope you still feel like reading them! Thank you for waiting all this time! (I'll try my best to finish the last part soon)

HERE'S PART1

Alex promptly notified campus authorities about the boys. Although he didn't know their names, his detailed description enabled other professors to identify them. He ultimately concluded that they weren't a real threat, just a bunch of troublemakers. Nevertheless, he did his part, unwilling to let the situation slide and subject himself to any torment for having overlooked their inappropriate behavior. In the same way, he'd be watching you just as closely, not only because he wanted you to be okay but also because of the intensity that had built up inside him (thoughts and a tiny bit of obsession) after the last time he saw you.

…

His messy and crooked handwriting on the napkin somehow lingered in your mind. Not as much as the possibility of him being someone other than yours, but it persistently surrounded your aura. Your idealization of Professor Turner did not fit with him being a traitor, so yes, the way you portrayed him in your mind did not allow for such a possibility unless he proved otherwise. And that hurts, from deep within your core to the bitterness in your mouth and the burning in your throat. It was frustrating, yet you still wanted him around. What continued to motivate you to read the book he had given you and delve into his notes was the feeling of having him by your side, reading every word with you. Sometimes you were certain that if you closed your eyes, you could hear his rough, accentuated voice blending with the characters.

Perhaps, if you were his age and already held a degree, maybe even a professor specializing in romantic literature, there might have been something between you two. Picture it: a rainy afternoon, your head resting on his chest, his warm lips near your ear as he read to you. You hadn't openly acknowledged it yet, but you felt a certain compatibility despite the numbers of years difference. It took you a while to realize, but his demeanor softened whenever he saw you, his gaze growing more serene, and even the beloved wrinkle between his eyebrows had time to relax. His voice became gentler. You weren't completely oblivious to these cues, though you did have your doubts.

It all traced back to that one night when he had come to your aid, opening your eyes to the possibility that he could belong to someone. The faint, woody scent of his blazer had found its way to your home. He had even apologized for pulling back from a kiss, not wanting to be rude, and left his phone number in your belongings with a simple message: "Call me if you need me, lil’ one." He left no room for doubt; your mind still spun, and you felt helpless, uncertain about what steps to take. But your desire to do something about it burned brightly.

"I can hear your breathing," his tone was relaxed. Just as you hoped it would be with you, and then you wondered if he could recognize you by your breathing alone.

You remained silent, there was no plausible reason or emergency that had made you call. It wasn't strange, just unusual. He laughed, which made you imagine him with a cigarette between his fingers, taking a breath on the balcony with his mouth slightly open to blow out the smoke. Maybe he just smoked too much, and you weren't obsessed.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence." He laughed, in a way that filled your lungs, and the little wrinkles around his eyes appeared for contemplation. At least in your mind, just for you.

You exhaled, your eyes filling with tears. It wasn't exactly a desire to cry, but you felt genuinely sad knowing that you weren't and wouldn't be his.

"How do you know it's me, Mr. Turner?" You wanted to sound playful, but your voice came out so shaky that it made calling him that seem inappropriate.

"It was a guess. Besides, I can't think of anyone who would call me at this hour and stay in deep silence. And, well," there was a pause, his guttural and muffled breathing making you take a deep breath. Enough time for a drag, you thought. "You know, I was ‘oping you’d call." He was sincere, typical of him. He always seemed too clear when he wanted to be. Everyone said he was strict, but you couldn't think of a time when he had made his students confused or uncertain about something he demanded. Demanded, that was a word that suited him in the classroom.

"Waited?" And you saw him nod with a sweet look for you, as if he were by your side. In fact, he just mumbled. "Expected me to be in trouble?" You tried to sound more cheerful.

There was a pause; you lay down, staring at the walls until you buried your nose in the pillow in a hug. He was close to his phone; you could hear him wet his lips and breathe lightly. You wanted to run your fingers over his face and hair again, but you couldn't deny that this was as magnificent as it got.

"Not at all, but I wouldn't hesitate to save you." His eyes closed tightly. The silence grew deeper, still comfortable, it was cute. If you had the chance, you would kiss him before that, before it got too cute. "I'm sorry," he said, not sounding regretful, just reluctant due to your brief absence.

You laughed, not saying anything, but it was enough for him to understand that everything was okay.

"Are you sad?"

Then you felt the pillow get a little damp.

"Am I really that transparent?"

He let out a breath through his nose, his lips curving. If he closed his eyes just right, just like you did, he would also be able to feel your fingers dancing around him.

"Only when you write, but I blame myself for watchin’ you too much during this time." You sounded the same way as when he pushed you a little too hard with his pragmatic comments, and although he found it adorable, over the phone, without being able to do anything about it, it made him a little uncomfortable. His words took brief seconds to be spoken; he wondered if you noticed how nervous he was that he needed to formulate sentences before speaking. And even then, he regretted some of them, not that they were bad, but he didn't want to hurt you.

"I guess I am,"

"Guess?" The air caught in your throat, the back of your nose starting to burn, and you feared it would be difficult to keep tears from flowing.

You didn't want to comment on the woman in the photo, at least not at that moment; you wanted to enjoy being with him as much as possible. Taking a deep breath, you decided to omit the reason but still let him know that you were genuinely upset. Maybe it was because he had helped you; you didn't know why, but you trusted him to a moderate extent that included your feelings. You believed and knew that talking to him would make you feel better.

"I think I'm just stressed," it wasn't a lie. His body shivered, unable to hold you close to comfort you. You felt a little pathetic making such a confession to a 37-year-old man who didn't have the same problems as you.

"I feel like I'm trying so hard for nothing, the days of writing have been a burden, and everything I write is so thought out and time-consuming that I feel like no one would want to read it, I'm almost certain I'm a fraud. I'm just waiting for the day they'll realize." Your throat was already scratchy enough to be closed from the middle to the end; your face was wet, and your head pounded in pulses. This was a recurring thought of yours; you had never verbalized it to anyone.

He listened, his steady breathing becoming slightly faster, and in a way, it calmed you over the phone. The whimsical feeling that he was there for you, even if it was a situation made up in your head, put you at ease.

Alex had noticed that you were insecure about your writing; it was clear how you reacted to his notes and negative feedback. But that was one of the things that made you good, the persistence in wanting to recognize your mistakes, listen, and do things differently. He wished all his students were like that. Although you had a special place in his mind and heart. Alex found you talented and determined; weakness didn't align with your gentle and loving personality. He wanted to make you see yourself through his eyes and free you from that feeling.

"I don't think you are, lil’ one; I know you're not," the pet name brought a smile to your face, and Alex noticed, his chest warming with the satisfaction of successfully soothing your worries. "You'll reach your goals. You write well, pay great attention to detail, and I love every touch of romance in your writing. I mean it now, and I'll mean it even more in the near future. You’re quite meant for this." He settled into his bed, clearing his mind as he imagined you lying beside him. Alex could almost see your gaze darting away from his, just as you often did during his lectures, as if you hoped he wouldn't notice.

You wouldn't admit it, and he wouldn't discover it, but you felt more confident and better in this emotional aspect after his classes. You recognized that you felt even worse about this in the months before you even knew Alex. Now it was different, and you liked that.

"Do you really think so?" It didn't sound like you wanted to hear him repeat the same words. It was more like you still had traces of doubt. He could even see your nose wrinkling, a habit of yours when you were uncertain, which he found endearing. Just like hearing your weak voice like that, no matter how wrong it may be.

"Sometimes I'm certain that I'm not worth the opportunity that someone needs to give me so I can succeed in something, something that hasn't even happened yet and might never," Alex didn't let you linger on that and hushed you until your voice diminished. If he found it painful to hear you talk about yourself this way, he couldn't imagine how you were dealing with it inside your head. "I don't want you to talk ‘bout yourself like that." His voice was firmer, and you shrunk back; it was good to hear above all. "You'll make it. You're worried ‘bout a future you can't control. You're still young, and you haven't even finished your degree. Give things time. Like I said, you're talented, and you'll have good opportunities. And I'd help you in any way possible." Inside his head, he concluded, and in the impossible too. He wished he could hug you, have your body close, and be sure that you were comforted and that your voice was no longer filled with tears, but all he had were words.

Even without a turn of phrase, he noticed you calming down, and he could feel your exaggerated heartbeat through the call. Or maybe that was just his worries. You were a mess. And even though you were frustrated, he didn't want to be anywhere else that night but on the phone with you (even though he preferred you in person next to him).

"Do you think it gets better with time, Mr. Turner?" You smiled; it was forced, he knew that, but he was relieved that you were trying. Then he scratched his nose with a funny look, the way you called him still sending shivers through his body, but he also found it cute how the sound came from your lips.

"The insecurity you're feeling?" You nodded in a mumble. "It doesn't get better, but we learn to deal with it better, I think." You laughed again, with more enthusiasm, and Alex felt accomplished, feeling his own cheeks blush.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner." You said softly, closing your eyes, the phone pressed against your cheek, still hugging your pillow even tighter. His breath truly acted as a calming agent on you.

"Little one?" He noticed you were tired. "You can call me Alex if you want; there's no reason to be so formal." He felt awkward asking for that, even though the whole situation was awkward.

"Okay," you said softly, not quite able to bring yourself to say his name. The way you sounded thoughtful even with such a small word made Alex chuckle quietly in a discreet way. You were so adorable in his eyes.

Silence took over, in the same warm and familiar tone as throughout the call. You began to smell his scent on your sheets and remembered lying there with his blazer before, although for now, it was likely just a figment of your imagination. But it felt so real; you were really drowsy from sleep.

"Turner?" He murmured to let you know he was still there, finding the evolution of you avoiding "mister" quite sweet, as it made him feel less old compared to you than he actually was.

"I've been writing different works; I'd like you to take a look. I like it when you assist me without taking away my freedom." He ran his hand over his abdomen, his body warm, and he felt guilty once again for pulling you into this with him, even if that was your will too.

"I'd love to. I'm free tomorrow if you want to come over." It sounded subtle and right. Neither of you could tell if it was the effect of sleep, but he liked the idea of having you at his house again and being able to talk to you outside the academic environment. You took a while to respond, and he almost took back his earlier words.

"Is it not a problem?" Your mind went back to how he could have someone who was his person.

"No," he said, not sounding pensive, but he was wondering if someone important at the university found out it could give you problems. He knew it wasn't right for him, but he didn't care as much about what could happen to him; you had more to lose than he did, you were at the beginning of your academic career, and he wouldn't do that to you. "Do you think it could be a problem for you?"

You denied it, realizing you needed to speak for him to know the answer. "No, I think it's a good idea," you concluded, deciding that you would make the most of it, whatever it was. It was the first time you felt attracted - you liked him, you were a bit obsessed, you were afraid - and you were almost certain he felt the same way, and you didn't want to waste it.

After a few short minutes, you continued, "I love the way you write about being in love, as if there's only room for that one person in your head, and nothing else matters. I hope that if someone ever falls in love with me, it's at least 10% of how you describe that feeling." He knew you read his publications, yet he felt a delightful warmth, like receiving a handwritten note from your middle school crush confessing the same feelings. He appreciated your work, and your appreciation of his made him feel great. "Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new? I won't settle for anything less." Although Alex had written this a while ago, he found himself contemplating how well it matched what he felt for you.

You couldn't find more words, but both of you could sense each other's presence, the subtle laughter, and the soft breaths. Words weren't the sole means of communication; you both comprehended the situation and willingly let things progress at their own tempo. With this feeling of ease, you slipped into a peaceful and rejuvenating slumber, so unaware of it.

A few before this, he commented about needing to dispose of the ashes and the ashtray, and your face brightened in the darkness upon realizing you were right. He was smoking this whole time. Once you drifted off to sleep, Alex allowed himself to do the same, filled with the assurance that you were safe.

…

Your gaze appeared distant, and your fingers, on the verge of digging into your arm's skin due to impatience, twitched nervously. You leaned against the wall, seeking to evade the curious glances of passersby, well aware that your tension was conspicuously written across your features.

"Hey, what happened?" His voice carried deep concern, and as his gaze met yours, you couldn't help but fear that someone had issued a threat you were blissfully unaware of. He didn't hesitate, closing the gap between you, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. He was clearly worried.

It took a moment for you to find yourself as you briskly navigated the corridor leading to the reception desk, anxiety clutching at your chest.

"They're having issues with my documents, for dear God. I need them to apply to some campus. I did everything correctly, notified them of my need for these documents, and I'm still well within the deadline…" Your voice trailed off, caught in the charged atmosphere, your mind aflame.

His gaze remained steady upon you, his countenance markedly soothed now that your anxiety had heightened the stakes of the situation. He adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder and extended a reassuring touch, his fingertips coming to rest gently upon your hand.

Moistening his lips and making that soft, almost playful sound one uses to capture a cat's attention, you couldn't help but release a small, albeit apprehensive chuckle, providing relief to both you and Mr Turner; he was doing well.

His presence, grounding and reassuring, helped to temper your nerves. He remained with you until your breathing found its way back to the present.

Glancing around, his eyes found no one in close proximity. He dipped his head slightly to align himself with your level, a tremor of emotion causing your cheeks to twitch. His face and the tip of his nose were red.

Running his fingers softly across your cheek, he offered you a warm smile despite your obvious reluctance stemming from the absence of his hand in yours.

"It's alright. Everything's going to be just fine, little one." His voice gradually dissolved your anxiety and the gripping sensation in your chest. He brought his fingers to his lips, tenderly kissing them before tracing their path back to your face.

First, he lightly pressed against your forehead, then your nose, and finally your cheek before his hands slid back into his pockets.

Unbidden, the thought crossed your mind that he would've kissed your tears away, a gesture of comfort he was undoubtedly willing to extend, if only the circumstances allowed. And then your mind ached at the brief reminder that you had woken up in the double bed in his room that night.

His laughter filled the space, eyes glistening with warmth, and the wrinkles around them adding to his features. In that moment, you fervently wished he could be yours, even as your self-awareness acknowledged the depth of your feelings.

"Where do you intend to apply?" Your gaze descended to his chest, buttons undone, and a gleaming chain vying for your touch.

"Huh, I... I plan to apply to a university in California. That's the crucial one, although I'll be submitting applications to others as well. Missing this deadline is simply not an option."

He nodded in understanding, skillfully alleviating the awkwardness you felt over your hesitant words. You remained unaccustomed to the unwavering attention he directed your way, where your words and actions seemed to bear a significant weight. He made you feel noticed and appreciated, you liked that.

"Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right back."

That said, he didn't take long to re-enter the room you had left about 40 minutes earlier and resolve your issue. He emerged with a furrowed brow, the self-assured smile gradually returning to his lips as he made his way back to you. It almost felt unfair how swiftly he had solved the problem, but then you remembered that he wasn't known for his friendliness to everyone. You imagined the firmness in his voice and expression as he demanded to know the whereabouts of your documents from whomever happened to be present. A sense of relief washed over you as he asked if this was what you needed and handed you the envelope. With a quick glance inside, you confirmed that your documents were indeed there.

He seemed genuinely pleased to have been able to help, but you didn't quite notice. Your reaction was instinctual as you rose on your tiptoes and let your body collapse onto his, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him close. He took a deep breath, unprepared for this, but he managed to keep his bag from slipping off his shoulder and circled his arm securely around you. His nose brushed against your hair, and he hoped your scent would linger on his clothes for at least a few more minutes.

It was brief, both aware of the potential consequences of this closeness. You apologized, although a smile remained on your face. He could have frozen that moment in reality, gazing at you for hours, your short shirt rumpled from your previous touch, knee socks slightly disheveled inside your tall boots, while you clung to the documents he had just retrieved. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was evident how you found comfort in each other's presence. And he easily concluded that you suited California.

"I need to go," he said, his thoughts consumed with the image of you sitting in his classroom in a few hours and potentially at his home later if you hadn't changed your mind. He didn't want to bring it up, wanting the decision to be entirely yours. If you decided not to show up, he'd understand, and you knew that. You appreciated the pressure he removed from you. His desires were quite evident, and even though you still needed to address the matter of the photo in his room, his intentions were anything but unclear.

…

On that day, you sat a few desks behind due to the front-row seat's creaking issue. Every time he entered the room, your attention soared. You enjoyed admiring how he placed his brown bag on the desk, neatly rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, and adjusted his blazer before starting the class. However, you noticed how his eyes searched for you before initiating this ritual, his face stern and composed, his hand tracing his jaw until he reached the spot where he found you, a few desks back. Your radiant smile met his timid one, and your hands fidgeted with your skirt. At that moment, you both knew that neither of you concealed your feelings well. It was evident in the softening of his expression upon finding you and the shy smile that curved his lips; with crooked lower teeth and cute prominent lines. It warmed your heart.

The following minutes went as expected, with your heart racing when he addressed you, and he posed questions that he was confident you could answer or raise thought-provoking ones. You remained addicted to gaining his favor, even though you no longer needed it. There was no doubt you were his favorite one.

"I think that's enough for today," he murmured, dismissing the others, which included you. Yet, you hesitated to pack your things and leave. You wanted to show him that you still intended to meet him later, fearful that he might think otherwise.

Initiating the conversation didn't come naturally. You leaned against the closed door, observing him tidy up the last of his belongings. You felt uneasy, and he sported a self-assured smile. He was yours, soon you'd gradually become aware of it.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence," he offered, approaching you. Your nervousness was palpable, and you couldn't even contemplate forming words. "There's no one on the other side of the door," he reassured, peering through the small glass window. "I wouldn't force or manipulate you into anything you don't want to do." He was cautious, but the idea that he thought you might think of him like that made you shake your head vigorously.

"I know you wouldn't, Professor Turner." His nose wrinkled slightly as you insisted on calling him that. His cheeks gained color, and you loved that.

You pushed your hair back, trying to clear your head. "I just wanted to confirm that you still want to see me tonight, and also to say thank you for helping me after the bar incident. I don't want you to think badly of me. I—" You paused, swallowing hard. Dry throat, just like your eyes, which couldn't stop blinking. His attention was fully on you, and it didn't help. Seeing your struggle, he moved closer, gently removing your hand from your hair. He whispered while still close, "I don't think anything bad 'bout you, and I'll still be waiting for you if you want to be there."

You nodded, your eyes lost in his, feeling as if you could almost touch his skin without making physical contact. Your hand involuntarily touched the collar of his shirt, your palm pressing awkwardly against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the coolness of his necklace. His fingers followed yours, resting on top of your hand with a pleasant size contrast. Your touch affected his body in ways you couldn't fully fathom, but he was better at concealing it. Your mind briefly entertained the idea of his lips brushing against yours, but this thought was soon supplanted by a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your chest met his as in an embrace, and it lasted long enough for you to feel his fingers below your knee, lifting your high socks until they were even with the other. It sent a great burn through your thigh and made you want to keep him close, but then he was stepping away. "I just want you to feel comfortable with me, pet." Your words once again choked in your throat. You wanted to hear him say he wanted you, but you refrained from vocalizing it, and you understood, but you still longed to hear it from him. Just as you wanted to shout that you felt good with him, despite being a novice in matters of the heart.

…

In your imagination, Professor Turner was someone who didn't shy away from the daylight, and you believed he was just that, even though it was amusing to picture a darker side to him that other students described. When you told your roommate that you wouldn't be back that day, and she suspected it might be related to him, you received a playful, "Take care, don't let him pull you to the dark side." It made you laugh and think about how some of your classmates had asked you to talk to Alex about his grading approach because they had noticed his fondness for you and were in desperate need of a miracle. You didn't think your intervention would change anything, but your curiosity would lead you to take the risk.

The air felt trapped in your lungs, and there was still an alert in your mind that being there was wrong. Students were gossips (your friend even more so), if he had someone, you would know, right?

"I thought you might be hungry," he gestured for you to enter. The same calm and gentleness that always characterized his demeanor toward you, as your roommate had reminded you over the phone just minutes ago. Your mouth quivered, and your hands turned cold as he looked at you. His expression was meticulous, as if trying to read every one of your signals. The sensation within you intensified as you adjusted your knee socks, and his attention followed you until he realized how his hands clenched around nothing. This time, it was you who laughed.

"I wish I could say you don't have to pay for things for me, but honestly, I wouldn't have had the money to come here," you explained, with more than a hint that you might be less financially stable than him. The age difference still nagged at your mind, but you had promised yourself to make the most of this situation. He had covered the Uber ride, just like last time, and now you felt guilty about him spending money on your meal, even though you found it adorable.

He was flushed, certainly not from embarrassment. "It's okay, I don't mind. I want you 'ere." It sounded so formal and yet so natural of him, it made you wonder if he did this often; seduce their own students. It was quite a torment for you to add to your worries, had he ever done that before? And why were you bothered by that? Why did you want to be the only one who had ever gone through this with him?

You only realized that you were standing there staring at him when you felt his hand lightly press your back and guide you to the living room. There were sheets and pillows on the wooden floor rug and the light was dim. He had thought about that and it made your cheeks hot, you were unable to contain a smile. Before sitting down, he took your bag off your shoulders and murmured, "Your thoughts are quite noisy, little one."

He sat next to you, his shoulders pressed against yours. Your legs stretched out and your uncontrollable fingers played with the hem of your socks. You kept your eyes on the orange colored juice and some bread, your belly emptying and your head becoming fuller. “I just,” you looked at him, his messy hair and tired look but still giving you all the appreciation. "I'm not used to it, I guess."

"I'm not sure if it helps you either, but, I'm not, I'm not in the habit of bringing students to my house. You're the first one." You smiled, the weight of your body joining him. Alex noticed you becoming more comfortable and brought his hand closer to yours, then you rested your palm in his; bringing your fingers over the veins and calluses on his fingertips. You bit your lip at the thought of him actually playing the guitars in his room. And then you felt heavy once again at the thought that you wouldn't be able to be present in the moment with him if you didn't know if he had someone else.

You were careful to pull your hands away from his, stealing a piece of bread and pouring yourself some juice. His gaze on you was unmistakable, hard to ignore. Even though you enjoyed it, you felt like you were caught doing something bad.

"You can talk to me," he said, nothing but reassuring. "The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable." And he didn't, it was in your head, and deep down you knew it.

As the orange, viscous liquid touched your lips, you noticed his flushed cheeks going harder, even though he remained confident. It was the same Mango and Passion Fruit blend you had at the campus bar. Your face lit up with a smile, and he wished it could always be like this. "This is almost an obsession." He laughed too, relieved that you didn't think he was crazy for it.

He had indeed asked in the following days what that drink was, and he had learned that you always ordered that, he was just trying to make you comfortable around him. Little did he know that it didn't take much. "I swear my intentions were for the best," he concluded to have succeeded as he held your gaze for a little longer, and then your head rested on his shoulder. Your arm was lazy at first but within minutes, it was around his waist, brushing the top of his pants and then pulling your body closer. You felt the scents mingling, and your head grew lighter. He kissed your forehead, and you closed your eyes, savoring the feeling. Silence was indeed a great friend of yours, something you both cherished.

"Do you have someone?" You weren't as confident as you'd like to be, though you thought the answer was no, you still feared the response. He held your chin close to his, so near that you could see the scar near his eye and the more expressive fine lines. A tear threatened to escape as he appeared puzzled. You didn't like letting him think that you thought ill of him, but you couldn't move forward without answers. "Please, say you don't." Your voice faltered.

He ran his fingers over your face, letting his forehead rest against yours. He definitely didn't like seeing you upset. "I don't have anyone romantically," he chuckled softly, finding it attractive how you nestled into his touch. Even though you were uncertain, you wanted to hear it from him first, and he found that so mature of you. He felt guilty for thinking of it that way, as a warning that this wasn't entirely right.

You nodded, your heavy gaze fixed on him, and yet he stayed with you. "But what 'bout the girl in the photo in your room and the double bed..." Your body tensed, your face pliable in his hands.

Alex felt the weight of it and wanted the words to sound painless for you. It wasn't your fault, and there was an easy explanation; it was a concrete and unchangeable situation, only painful. He held you close when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes, with just the right amount of strength, and his chest ached as his own vision welled up. "I don't have her anymore, not anymore," and with that, you understood. His gaze and his voice, the tone of affection, you didn't feel jealous, and in a way, you understood.

Your response was to cradle his cheeks and kiss his face, not liking to see him sad gave you the courage you'd been seeking all along. His arms enveloped you, a subtle embrace, his nose brushing against your thin top, your bodies aligning inch by inch. It felt right, and it didn't seem so wrong anymore.

He chuckled against your neck, lacking much humor. "It's been a while, I'm not trying to replace her or anything." His hand traced his eyes, and you nodded in understanding. You didn't sense that from him. "It's okay, I just didn't expect that and got scared." You whispered, letting your nose touch his while his forehead sweet bangs tickled you. Soon, your fingers were lightly tugging at the nape of his neck, and he didn't avoid your gaze; he only seemed upset about worrying you. Your lips brushed his eyes, tasting the saltiness, making you feel compassionate.

Nevertheless, you let your lips touch his, soft and warm, drawing out a lingering sigh. His grip tightened around you, and with that, your hands went from entwining his collar to pulling him closer, as if you could make it better; you wanted to make him feel great.

He solemnly withdrew from you, keeping you close while planting kisses on your face as he did so. As he pulled back, you realized that your senses were more attuned to him than to yourself. You couldn't pinpoint at what moment during all this you ended up in his lap. You didn't feel bad about it, but you still felt like you should.

"I'm sorry," you began, but he didn't let you pull away from him. He didn't need to explain, but he did it anyway. "I stay 'ere to teach, not because of her. I loved her, and I probably still would, but I'm not bound to her in any way, or sustained by being in love with someone I won't see anymore. I just don't see myself forgetting her entirely after years as if nothing had happened, just as I don't want to make you think this distances me from you or makes you believe I'm trying to replace her with someone else." He was precise, his voice trembling like never before. The coherence as something he had planned to say before hurt you; he wanted to say it but avoided it, and you didn't blame him. "I just want you to know these things." Your response was to hug him, craving the ability to merge with his body. It was dramatic, but you wanted to take some of that weight off him. His broader back, along with the embrace, covered you entirely, and you could feel his breathing calming as your thighs and arms clung to him.

With your head feeling lighter, your face nestled deeper into his chest. Your nose brushed against his neck, his warmth matching yours. The roughness of his baby beard made you smile into nothing. You could swear you felt him shiver. He kissed your face, his lips finding every space from your mouth to your neck, and your jolly reaction was to pull him closer by his t-shirt's collar. Your body burned, in a comforting way, and before falling asleep with him enveloped in you, you thought about how you should have done more or even asked for more. You no longer felt hesitant towards him.

…

Your eyes slowly opened, the lighting still cozy, just like the feeling of his chest. He held you tightly, his chin nestled on the top of your head, making you feel whole as one. As you shifted in his lap, you wanted to squeeze him, feel the flesh of his waist, and unbutton more of his shirt to accommodate your hand. You needed to take a deep breath, unable to avoid the initial sweat on your forehead. He let out a sigh, his fingers tracing your back and holding you as you bit your lip to hide a smile. His dark circles were more pronounced, his skin softer, although his eyes slightly puffy. You snuggled back into him, and he accommodated you, sealing the moment with more kisses.

"I'm sorry, Turner," the muffled laughter left you happy too, not that you weren't already. You ran your wrist over his mouth, he was still fixated on every part of you. In truth, you might not have known what you were doing, or you were just nervous. You didn't want to disappoint him.

"It's okay," he ran his fingers in circles on your waist. Your skirt crept up, and the position improved as he leaned against the wall. You could feel him better, every inch of him, and the thought that you were arousing him made you tense up a bit, even though it was good. He noticed and held your face, his lips touching where you had just tried to dry because you forgot you needed to breathe through your nose when kissing someone, "Hey, it's okay, lil' one. We don't have to do anything you don't want. I like you being with you."

You took his neck, your lips soft and moist, albeit timid against his skin, making him release adorable sounds that made you want more. This caused you to grip onto him, your hips moving closer to his, and you wished he would touch you, even if just for the mere thrill of feeling him.

"Please," you sighed, his face pressed against yours. Your fingers toyed with the closed buttons of his t-shirt as you shifted your gaze to your hands. Alex understood that you weren't entirely sure about what you were asking for, and this sweetly confirmed how much he considered you nothing but a good girl. It was evident that you wanted to be wonderful for him, and it was adorable to see in your eyes how you were eagerly waiting for him to lead the way in this dance of desire.

"I'm all yours, princess." He concluded with a mixture of pet names that both disconcerted and melted you into him. You took a deep breath as the pressure of his large hands adjusted your hips, your knees slightly burning, but you couldn't help but create the necessary friction to feel him better. You could indeed feel all of him, from the light fabric of his dress pants to the zipper, hitting you perfectly. "I know, little one, you're doing so great," he praised, mesmerized by how you lightly closed your eyes and then opened them to him, and he nodded in agreement, acknowledging your success. It was attractive to see you feeling secure and knowing how to make yourself feel good. With your hands still held against him, he intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing the remaining buttons to be undone, and then your palm found its place into his flesh.

He held you tighter, your body against his. "Don't move both together, use your legs or just grind against me, or you'll get tired quickly," he sounded precise, his deep and raspy voice filling you up. You obeyed. "That's my good girl," he said in a husky growl. This effectively worked to keep you going with him. His fingers gripped your nape, pulling your head to look at him, gazing down at your sleepy and pleading look. He clenched his jaw, sure that he could surrender for so little. His lips landed on your neck, his nose burying into your skin, so soon his teeth were pulling you into a light and pleasurable bite.

And then you were his, his hands working on you better than your legs were trying but failing to reach that level. Soon, he removed your top with the same gentleness and urgency with which he pulled you to him just to devour your breasts. His grip traveled to your waist, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, encircling how hard they were and sucking them into his mouth as if it was genuinely pleasurable for him. The tip of his nose brushed against your skin, and he caused pain by nibbling on the flesh ready for him to take. You found yourself liking how every sound you made was heard by him, and he understood every nuance to repeat or intensify whatever he was doing to you.

You fit him well; being with him and having him wrapped around you made you feel confident. You had been embarrassed to be so spontaneous with someone before, but with him, it was different. His calm presence over you, the tranquility and affection, as well as the satisfaction in his eyes and touch when he saw you well, made you want more and more of him and to surrender yourself to him even more.

"You're so delicious," and he meant it. He squeezed you tightly, and you were worried you might have marks afterward. In a way, you liked it; you wanted to see him sprawled over you when it was all over.

And at all times he paid attention to your high socks, fixing them in the right place and smoothing them so they wouldn't move from where they were; keeping them pretty on yourself.

To soothe your whimper, he nestled his thumb against your clit, adjusting his movements until it felt like it was working for you. Alex was flushed, and you wanted to capture the look he was giving you. He didn't feel entirely guilty, but something weighed on him, as if he were corrupting you; the sensation wasn't bad at all. He pulled the flimsy fabric upwards, giving you more traction, lightly laughing at the pastel color and the central bow, knowing that it would haunt his mind for many days to come when he was feeling drowsy. It was magnificent, every detail of you, and he marveled at having your tired and prolonged sighs and teary eyes, just as he always thought they would be when your weak body collapsed onto his in such adorable spasms.

…

Your body ached, but the electricity in you felt good. Your hands ran clumsily through the pleasurable haze. He placed his lips on your forehead, lingering there until your body melded to his like a magnet. "I need to go, but I don't mind if you stay 'ere, lil' one," he sounded even better after waking up, husky and lazy, yet strong. Gradually, you became aware of the fact that you were in his bed, wearing the button-up shirt that you admired on his body. You smelled like him. You remembered him covering you with it, draping your figure while he kissed your collarbone gently. You were so drowsy that you were so certain it had been a dream.

"Go where?" You asked absently, looking around. He pulled up your socks, your legs entwining with his beneath the sheets. He loved this, wanted to have you there forever. You slept so serenely, comforted by his touch, and he thought about leaving you there. But he remembered how scared you had been at the idea of him leaving without notice the night he took you from the bar. He didn't want to cause that in you again, especially knowing he wouldn't be there when you woke up. "I have to teach in the morning, but I'll be back in the afternoon. I don't mind if you stay 'ere if you want."

"And do you want me to stay?" Your lips quivered; you understood his careful approach to your desires, but you wanted to hear it from him without reservations.

"I want you to stay, very much. I still need to read your new work, and I want to hear more from you." Your smile widened, and your face met his neck. He stroked your hair, keeping you close. You had almost forgotten that you had tucked prints of your writings into your bag to leave with him, or to have him read while you waited for his shrewd criticisms. You didn't care as much anymore; you wanted to hear him. You wanted to hear everything he had to say about you, whatever it may be. This thought, combined with the reminder that he preferred printed works over email submissions, made you beam more against him. He pulled you close, looking at you curiously.

"Okay, I can stay here, old man. It's good that I can finish reading the book you gave me." His cheeks flushed, and he got up, making you laugh more and grumble in disapproval. Alex didn't make a fuss and went to the wardrobe, putting on a clean t-shirt and taking off the pants he had worn earlier. He was serene, and he didn't mind you watching, your calm eyes on him, unraveling with each visible patch of skin. You wanted to scream about how everything in you wished this could be your routine. When you looked around, the photo was no longer there, and it didn't seem strange. In fact, you didn't feel jealous of it. However, knowing that he had put it away in another place made you feel good. You thought you might ask him more about it soon; she was important to Alex, and you understood and respected that. You thought it was only fair for him to know you didn't think badly of it.

"Promise you won't be too harsh when reading my stuff?" The buttons were still opened when he turned to you, his eyebrow arched, and his chocolate-colored eyes sparkling.

"I'm not cruel," you huffed, making him suppress a sly smile. "At least not with you." Your cheeks burned. He went into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he grabbed his toothbrush. You followed, sitting beside him on the large sink, attentive to him.

"You know, they told me to ask you to go easier on the students, at least in my class. They all seem to think you're pretty tough," you mentioned.

He chuckled. You liked this, it was intimate and comfortable. His hair was messy, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled; he was perfect. He wiped his mouth and kept his brows tense, "I'm not; the world is just not as perfect as most of you believe, and not everyone is as good as you." He was such a cute old bastard. You arched your brows, mimicking the expression he often made, and he laughed, softening for you. "I won't harm anyone; I just think lower grades make you all work harder." He clarified, placing himself between your legs, and you soon enclosed him in your embrace.

"That's cruel and unfair, Professor Turner." He kissed your face, seeing that it bothered you more than you pretended it did. "You don't have to agree with me, pet."

"And I don't." You sounded more irritated, and he liked that. "It's not very fair."

He laughed, nodding. "Well, know that I'm not going to change." You shook your head but stayed there. You pulled him closer, buttoning up the shirt just as he did, and then folding the cuffs as you had noticed he liked to leave them. He enjoyed that with a great goofy smile.

Briefly, his mind wandered to how he didn't have another place besides there. He might have already renewed the campus contract and then planned for another season in Europe. But for the first time in a long time, he found himself questioning that decision. He could go to other places if he wanted; his qualifications allowed him to move beyond where he was. Basically, all it took was his own mind. So he thought about postponing the decision of whether to renew or not. Things might change.

"Turner, aren't you going to be late?" He snapped back to reality, kissing your lips before he actually heard everything you said. His fingers played with the elastic of your knee socks, tugging gently and then letting go, causing you to gasp in pain against his mouth. "It's funny how you want to punish your students but don't even care about arriving on time." You narrowed your eyes, trying to sound intimidating, but your breath gave you away quite well. "You look beautiful like this." He ignored the irony and felt your legs tighten around him. "In my shirt, princess," he whispered between lip nibbles, amused at how easy it was to leave you speechless. He lifted your hips from the sink, aligning your body better with his.

"I want to feel you, taste you on tongue, princess, is that okay?" His nose brushed your face, trying to soothe you as his hands roamed around you, feeling you tense with nervousness. He loved that. Your lips touched his, with wetter and more intense kisses, and you felt silly when you realized from the way he was smiling that he wasn't talking about that. You swallowed hard and nodded. "I just won't know what to do," you said, feeling dizzy as you held your breath. "Don't do anything," his hands comforted your body, and you leaned in so that he could remove the damp fabric from under his (yours) shirt. "Just relax, don't think 'bout it for now." You agreed, eagerly watching him kneel in front of you.

You did as he said, settling in more comfortably and following his eyes as he spread your legs, playing slowly with your socks before slipping your legs over his shoulders. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his nose diving into the area, and then his teeth nibbled the skin as you gasped. He chuckled with delight. "Are you going to teach me how to make you feel good too, Mr. Turner?" He couldn't resist your sweet voice. He nodded, giving a kiss to your center, your flesh glistening in anticipation. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, princess." And then that new, wet, and firm sensation invaded you, your eyes closed, your lips parted in a brief, silent sigh. Your breasts were highlighted in the white t-shirt, so hard that they were attractive to Alex's gaze from time to time.

Your fingers clutched his dark hair, while his eyes remained closed right after taking a great look at you, and he released such a beautiful prolonged, satisfied groan. The taste made him a little dizzy, but he loved every second of it. "You're divine, did you know that?" You couldn't respond anymore; his nose caressed you, and his fingertips marked your delicate skin. He liked the time he was taking; it was nothing more than his tongue, and he relished the sensation of exploring you slowly. You also liked it, and that was enough for him. He could feel his chin wet and his breath falter, but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. "Don't stop, please." And all you heard was the hum of his confident laughter against you, along with the recent texture of the beard growing, while you only thought about making it easier for him as you spread yourself further and fully surrendered to him. You just knew you would feel the same way tasting him on your lips and tongue.

...

taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmoschaotic @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr @nela-cutie @artimonkii @alexturnersbbg3 @blackberryblossom @lilmisssweetdreams @alexshotelandcasino @tbhclove @rostarblog @babieswiftie @yourstartreatment @atticssmellgood @aacheinthejaw @mingods

tagged only for teacher's pet (the one who asked for and people who asked for the part2) : @thenightslikeawhiirlwind @missbabyjay @kayla1717 @ladydraculasthings @tyatthiapoewy @depthhell @hvncae @raven-ql @kittyrob0t @jakethsims @mayaawesome10 @michelleisheres-blog @love-me-until-ilove-myself @est3va @viviannagiorgini

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Let me know if something is wrong or if you're not comfortable!

Also, I'm taking thoughts/ideas for part3 (it'll be the last one, I promise!)

[fluffyfantasticducky]

Focus on the Good

☆ Pairing: Loki x Reader

☆ Synopsis: Loki is overwhelmed dealing with being accused as a traitor, although this time he's innocent. But this time, he is not the man he used to be, and he has you by his side.

☆ Word Count: 5,110

☆ Notes: The relatively awaited part two of Smile for me. Sorry I took so long to post this, I had a creative block and had trouble deciding what to focus on. The traitor plot twist is anticlimatic but I chose to focus more on Loki and his feelings.

☆ Warnings: Loki dealing with self hatred, insinuations and caresses that aren't spicy per se but are a bit more intimate and flirty but it's all sfw.

Frustrating. How else could he call it?

His first mission as a leader was a complete disaster. You had gotten hurt due to his own incompetence. And add some insult to this pathetic situation, now he was being investigated for treason to S.H.I.E.L.D. despite that he was completely innocent.

It must have been some sick twisted joke of fate. He spent years playing with Asgard like a fiddle, getting away with so much, to the point that where he committed treason everyone realized only when it was too late. And now that he had a reason to make things right, be transparent and honest, now he was investigated as if he was some traitor.

The most offensive thing of those implications was that it suggested that Loki was either using you or lying to you. When in reality he would die for you, he’d walk through fire if you asked him. Or that you were complicit of his ‘crimes.’ You, you who were the kindest, sweetest, most righteous person he had ever met.

Every day or two days at most they come to either interrogate you, him, or inspect your shared room which always left them a mess to clean up.

At least the people he cared about knew he was innocent. Thor was constantly arguing with Fury, going over and over about how this was nonsensical and even offering Loki to flee to New Asgard for a few days until things calmed down. Valkyrie had offered him an extra room if he needed. Bruce, while he wasn’t as passionate about defending Loki, agreed that it made very little sense that Loki would betray them now with all he had accomplished. Even the great Tony Stark agreed between sarcastic jokes that he would’ve believed if he hadn’t seen how down bad, he was for you.

You… what would he do without you? You not only got into mad arguments and made abundantly clear your distaste for this decision, but you were his biggest source of support and peace after all the draining routine he was being put through during the suspension from missions. You were a risk taker by disobeying direct orders from Fury by asking Thor, Bruce, Nat, Clint to trade with you during missions as to make a strike until they decided to reintegrate Loki to his normal duties. And for the first week of interrogations, whenever it was your turn… Norns, he felt a bit bad for the director. You were quite loud and fierce when you wanted to be.

But most importantly, all the support he got from you after all the interrogations and room inspections that hurt him more than he’d ever admit.

“I’m sorry…” he sighed, resting his head on your lap.

In between the inspections to your shared bedroom one of the agents had broken a little figurine you collected.

“It’s just a toy, I’ll get another one…” you assured him.

Loki could sense a lie. But he also remembered how excited you had been when you got it, saying it was rare and it had taken you a huge effort to get it.

“You darling prince…” you spoke softly, running your fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. We know you’re innocent, soon all of S.H.I.E.L.D. will see it too. Everything else doesn’t matter.”

“What did I do so right to deserve such a pretty angel such as you?” he chuckled. “You are unfairly good to me.”

“You keep saying that baby.” You spoke gently, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear. “You sound like a broken record.”

“I might be one” he shrugged, closing his eyes.

“Yeah?” you giggled. “Then I’ll just have to fix you.”

“I thought you said the I can fix him was a toxic mentality in romance” he said cheekily.

“Oh, now you remember my movie rants” you laughed. “But the I can fix him trope is toxic when—”

“…It is used by the abuser who manipulates them into staying as a rehabilitation center. A partner should be part of your support group but never the responsible to fix you, but a motivation and helping hand while you fix yourself.” He opened his eyes to look up at you as he finished repeating your old rant word by word. “I always remember the things you say.”

“Is that so? When is our anniversary?”

“June 9” Loki smiled and noticed you opening your mouth to retort. “And our 1,000 days together is on March 5th year. And yes, I knew you were going to ask that.”

“Smart pants” you smiled.

“You love me like that.”

“I do” you smiled and kissed his lips softly. “Guess you don’t need fixing after all.”

“Glad we agree, I am the most perfect man” he grinned, relishing the way you cringed and smiled at the silly joke.

“I don’t know about that.” You smiled, “But you are perfect for me.”

You pecked his lips and made him smile.

“I don’t deserve you…” he smiled.

“Oh, that’s it!” you laughed and soon your hands where all over his sides.

And sooner than that Loki was laughing his head off.

“Hehe- hey!” he protested between laughs.

You had an annoying charm. Tickling him silly as a pseudo-punishment. It was your shared secret how much Loki enjoyed being tickled. You stopped soon enough, smiling at him, caressing your thumb across his cheek.

“It’ll pass before you notice…” you whisper. “They will see exactly what you truly are. Just like I do.”

Loki chuckled softly.

“I hope not, you are a handful already” he smirked at the offended look on your face due to his comment.

“Oh, you want to talk about a handful…” you growled as you flipped to straddle him. “Let’s see how much of a handful I can be…”

Loki gulped, unable to fight a smile.

“Ahah…” he huffed, “darling, d-don’t… d-dohohohon’t!”

But your hands were already attacking his sides, your fingers skillfully scribbling along his skin, prodding his ribs, drilling along each crevice in the most maddening way.

“Is that enough handful for you, huh?” you asked in a faux anger. “Eh? Is it?”

“Thihihihihihis is cruel!” Loki protested. “And thahahahat doesn’t mahahake sehehense!”

“Mmm, it might have just been excuse to get my hands on this hot bod of yours” you smiled.

Being tickled was already a vulnerable moment for Loki. To the point where only you could tickle him without any resistance. Anyone else would need to overpower him physically or just restrain him. You, on the other side, he would barely fight back. He’d simply squirm in his place, rolling over to the side or on his stomach. Which it gave you more of a sensation that he just wanted you to focus on other spots. Not that he'd ever admit… you had tried.

“Ehehehe! You ahahahaha— wait no!” he protested as your fingers reached his stomach, giving it little pinches and pokes. “Lohohohove, stop!”

“Alright, alright.” You smiled and kissed his forehead as you stopped the tickling. “Is your mood better?”

“Ihi— if I say yes will you stop torturing my stomach?” he smiled at you, holding onto your hips. “You know I can’t take it there.”

The way you leaned against his chest to kiss his lips never failed to drive him wild. And this wasn’t the exception.

“I am aware” you hummed against his lips. “That’s why it’s my favorite spot to tickle.”

“I am, unfortunately, also aware of that” he chuckled.

“If you really minded it, you’d actually do something to stop me instead of just laughing your heart out.”

“I love it when a beautiful mortal has their hands all over me, is that something to be ashamed about?” he grinned cheekily at you.

You rolled your eyes and smiled. “It wouldn’t be if you were still single. But you are stuck with me now and forgive me if I’m not good at sharing my boyfriend. Unless you’d share me with others.”

“That is out of the question. You are mine, and mine alone.” He said solemnly as he held you in his arms. You lifted your eyebrows, expectantly as he felt his cheeks warm up under your gaze. “As… I am yours; I suppose.”

“Was that so hard to say?” you smiled.

“Terribly so” Loki smiled. But then, his face adopted a serious, melancholic expression. “I’m sorry… I should not be dragging you into this disaster. You deserve better, and I fear you will realize that. It would be best for you, but… I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Lucky for you, that’s not something you have to worry about” you assured him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I am perfectly happy with you.”

One thing that Loki loved about your relationship was that despite knowing you said stuff to made him feel better, it never came off as dishonest, as if those two concepts weren’t mutually exclusive. You said the kindest, most loving things, and he could tell you honestly felt every single one.

It made his heart soar. That honest and kind heart of yours was exactly what he had been craving for. You were what he had been looking for.

It made him want to open his heart to you. You were kind and listened to him without judging or thinking the worst of him.

“What am I going to do?” he sighed. “If I can’t go on missions, soon I will not be allowed to go outside, and then I will be going back to being a high-class prisoner.”

“Actually… you can’t leave the building given you’re under investigation” you said apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Lovely…” he groaned, throwing his head back, rubbing his face with his palms. “I am back to being a prisoner. Might as well get inside a cell.”

“Yes, we could tie you up, and torture you until you confess” you purred, trailing kisses along his jawline, as your hands made their way to play with his hair.

“You’re making it sound appealing” he hummed, relishing the feeling of your lips against his skin. “Mmm~ Keep touching me like that and I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Mm, what a good boy” you giggled, kissing his lips.

He laughed along with you, but mostly because your hands had found his ears and were tickling behind them.

“W-Whahahat are you doing? T-That tickles!” he laughed.

“I told you I would torture an answer out of you” you giggled, tickling the back of his ears. “Now confess, you war criminal!”

“Nohohoho, stohop it!” he squirmed underneath you. “How is thahahat spot so bahahad?”

“Right?” you chuckled, pressing loving kisses along his face. “I found out the other day while we were kissing.”

He grabbed your wrists. “Oh really?” he smirked, and trapped your wrists in one of his hands as he began tickling your ear shell and behind it. It took absolutely nothing to have you giggling like a kid.

“Ehehehe! L-Loki!” you giggled. “Hehehe! I-It tickles!”

“It does, does it not?” he chuckled.

He traced along the outline of your ear. He relished the way you laughed against him, you never tried to get away nor asked him to stop. You loved that closeness as much as Loki did.

“Mmm, that laugh of yours is so lovely~” he hummed as he stopped, tucking a few streaks of hair behind your ear. “It’s my favorite sound in the whole world, you make me so happy.”

“Cheesy” you chuckled, kissing his lips.

“I mean that, darling” he smiled. “Without you I would have gone mad by now. Or worse, I would be a prisoner.”

“You can’t believe that…” you spoke softly.

“What else am I supposed to believe?” he sighed, “what I did to New York is unforgivable. I should be locked up for life, I was going to be… It’s what I deserve. It took me too long to understand it.”

It broke your heart to hear him talk like that. It was a shame that he still punished himself so badly. You appreciated that he recognized his error, but the fact that it haunted him was painful to watch. He was already working on getting better.

“Loki… Your beef with Earth had its particular and complicated circumstances, it wasn’t 100% your fault.” You assured him. “But even if that was, there are other ways to atone for your mistakes… Punishing yourself but you were helping Earth, compensation is another way of redemption. Being an Avenger is a way to redeem yourself.”

“How do you do it?” he chuckled, “How do you manage to look at all the awful things I have done and still somehow see the best in me?”

“Because I’ve also seen how much you regret it, and I’ve seen you trying to prove to everyone, prove to yourself that you are doing better.” you spoke lovingly. “That means a lot, to me, to Thor, to everyone.”

“But why?” he asked. “What I did is…”

“Fucked up, yes. Tony and Bruce created a genocidal robot, Clint was an international criminal prisoner and retook as an assassin, Steve and Natasha were literal war criminals, your brother before you nearly started a war—”

“That I provoked him into.”

“Would you do it again?” you asked.

“For the sake of entertainment—” Loki pondered.

“Loki!” you giggled.

“I’m jesting, love!” he laughed. “Earth is no good in wars like Asgard, we fight to settle disagreements, make alliances, or get respect. But never to destroy.”

“We’re not so bad…” you smiled.

“Not all of you, no.” Loki agreed. “You for once are a wonderful mor— human. Smart, beautiful, funny, kind… It’s the people on the higher power that worry me.”

“It’s as they say, absolute power corrupts absolutely” you shrugged. “That’s what we fight for. For those without power, and against those who abuse it.”

“You say that as I remain locked in here, simply training and withering away” Loki sighed.

“Well… we can find something interesting to keep you occupied—”

“Reindeer games, out now!” Tony banged on the door.

“Not now Stark!” Loki called annoyed.

“You’ll want to see this.” Tony spoke through the other side of the door.

You stood up and Loki followed right after. Everyone was headed to the meeting room so that’s where you went to.

Bruce and Thor had one of the younger cadets, Philip. He was struggling against the two. His blonde hair was a mess and he looked like he had lost a fight.

“We found our traitor, brother.” Thor said firmly, even a bit prideful. “The little rat sabotaged our missions.”

“A double agent?” Steve asked.

“Self-sabotage” Bruce clarified. “He informed the base you were going. Who and when. And exactly how to take down a god. We found a report of the mission sent to an unknown address.”

“I found it.” Natasha stated.

“You?” Clint raised an eyebrow.

“We” she corrected herself.

“With my technology, that is.” Tony added. “In case anyone was wondering.”

“No one was wondering that, Tony” Steve smiled lightly, amused by the genius’ ego.

“But why? You were the only non-Avenger agent Loki chose personally” Thor asked. “My brother trusted you. And it was a wonderful opportunity for you.”

Fury looked… well, furious.

“Philip Crowe, you’re immediately and effectively removed from all S.H.I.E.L.D. work and installations, permanently for treason, espionage, and sabotage to an elite strike agent.” Fury said firmly.

“Elite?! He’s a monster!” the young man protested, struggling to break free from the arm lock. “It’s a time bomb! It’s in his nature! You’ve seen what he’s capable of! It’s a matter of time before we have New York part two! You’ve read myths, what guarantees that there won’t be a Ragnarök on Earth?! He—”

SMACK! He had been cut off by a slap in the face by you. If the stinging in his cheek was not enough to silence him, your cold glare silenced him.

“Take him away.” You said. “I want him rotting in a cell for a really long time…”

“Oh, he will be locked in the dark for a very long time” Fury agreed, “for espionage, and sabotage… And being an asshole as a whole.”

Thor was about to take him away. He was struggling to break free.

“Don’t.” Loki spoke up. “I’ll use a spell to delete his memories, about S.H.I.E.L.D. about the Avengers. Everything will be gone from his mind. He can live a normal life not remembering being an agent.”

Loki walked and looked down at him. Placed his hand on his forehead as the blond struggled. Loki let his Seidr flow and Philip’s body went limp.

“When he wakes up, he’ll be normal, he can have a normal life, he won’t be a risk for S.H.I.E.L.D.” he sighed and left the room.

Flowers bloomed under him as he sat by the lake. Just enjoying the familiar view. But not even that brought him any joy.

“Loki, there you are, honey.”

“Hello mother” Loki smiled. “I was just… thinking.”

“I thought you would be happy to get your naming” Frigga said. “You were excited this morning to receive your title.”

“God of Mischief, mother?” he asked. “Does that mean I’m supposed to cause trouble?”

“Is that so bad?”

“Will father get upset at me?” Loki asked. “Besides, you like annoying your brother.”

“Pranking Thor is different. Why could I be the God of rain, wind, or something, then Thor and I could be gods together.”

“You can’t revolve your personality around Thor. Your godly title is meant to reflect your personality, not your brother’s” Frigga smiled at him gently. “Your father gave you a title that would fit you.”

“Does father think I’m a bad son?” he asked.

“I think your father thinks you’re creative, smart, with good abilities to get away with what you want” Frigga assured him. “All qualities you do have. And you are quite cheeky.”

Loki chuckled weakly. Frigga smiled and picked up a purple flower and wiggled it against Loki’s face. Causing the young god to scrunch up his nose and swat the pretty flower away.

“You know, son. I think it’s time for you to start learning magic” Frigga said.

“But you said I had to wait until I was 500 years old” Loki asked.

“I think you’re ready” Frigga said, “You’re 250 years old already, and you just got your title. You are a big boy now.”

With a few elegant movements the violet on Frigga’s hands turned into a purple frog that jumped out of hands and into the pond. Loki giggled as his mother’s arms trapped him into a hug as she tickled his sides.

“Pretty memory” you looked at him as you sat next to him. “Your mom is pretty.”

“Most beautiful woman in all of Asgard” Loki agreed. “Do you know what Orvokki means?”

“Uhh, it’s a violet, right?” you said looking at the flowers around the lake.

“It can also be interpreted as little orphan. How ironic that it was my favorite flower as a child…” Loki grumbled.

He flicked his wrist and the illusion of his memory vanished. He was no longer in Asgard, he was sitting on the rooftop of the compound’s main building. He wasn’t with his mother. And his eyes were red from crying.

“That was really nice thing you did back there” you congratulated him as you rubbed circles across his back.

“Not bad for a monster, huh?” Loki huffed out, in a failed attempt to fake out a laugh. “Did you see the way he looked at me? The fear in his eyes…?”

“Don’t listen to him…” you said resting your head against his shoulder. “He never gave you a chance to prove how good you really are. That’s his problem, not yours.”

“I can’t blame him… I would not trust me either… I am a monster, I was a monster to my people, to my home…” he sighed.

“What? No, Loki…”

“My birth father abandoned me to die, I was raced by a kingdom that thought my kind were monsters…” Loki sighed, “and I caused so much pain and death to a Realm that could’ve seen me as something quite literally divine.”

You looked at him and squeezed his hand.

“I thought… I hoped I had a second chance, I wanted to believe people were already accepting me. I thought that if I could have at least one agent to trust me… How foolish of me…”

“Stop that…” you scolded him, giving his hand a gentle and loving squeeze. “You’re not a monster. No one sees you as a monster.”

Loki laughed bitterly. While you weren’t lying in the literal sense, you were being too kind, blinded by your affection for the young Asgardian to acknowledge the recent events.

“I mean it!” you said. “You’re so focused on one person thinking you’re a monster, that you fail to see what everyone else did because they believed in you. They all helped in their own way to prove you were innocent. Either tracking conversation, providing resources… Gosh, even director Fury trusted you were innocent.”

“I…” Loki recapped the events from earlier. You weren’t wrong.

“Besides, you know how picky I am when it comes to dating” you smiled, “I wouldn’t date just anyone. Is that not enough for you?”

Loki was silent for a moment, for once he didn’t even have a smart reply for that.

He had seen you turn down a couple of agents or staff members before the two of you started dating. Philip among the lines of the rejected. In fact, he remembered that during that time where the other Avengers noticed his feelings for you, some of them tried to discourage him from courting you, because “you didn’t date.” In fact, they had brought it up, on his face to prove it so. You were, in fact, very picky when it came to dating. Which just made him value your relationship even more. It gave him a huge confidence boost, and the security of not being replaced or overshadowed he so desperately had been needing.

And once again, you were that source of comfort and security. You were his sweet little balm.

“I… um…” he stuttered.

You chuckled and kissed his cheek.

“Tongue tied?” you teased him, making him groan in frustration as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “Just… don’t give him power over you, if he didn’t bother knowing you, he shouldn’t deserve such a space in your mind.”

“Thanks, love” he smiled softly. “For… looking after me. And… helping me see that others look after me.”

“Heh… I’m glad I helped” you spoke lovingly as you rubbed your nose against his neck.

He chuckled rested his cheek against the top of your head.

“Should we head inside?” you asked, rubbing your own arms, as you stood up “it’s a bit chilly out here.”

“You can go inside, love” Loki offered. “I need some time alone.”

You looked at him worried, but a gust of cold wind made you shiver, making the idea of going inside more and more appealing. But he saw the hesitation in your eyes, the way you didn’t want to leave him alone made him smile.

“I promise I’ll meet you inside later” he assured you. But you didn’t look too convinced “Make some tea for us, and I’ll meet you in our room before you’re done putting on your pajamas.”

You gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher but you nodded and made your way inside.

He relished the fresh air. But as he mentally prepared to be burdened with his failure, he surprised himself smiling. His mind wasn’t clouded with the young spy that betrayed him.

All he could think was that all the original Avengers, those he had cursed himself for unintentionally helping assemble to defeat him… now had stood up for him. And it didn’t stop there.

His mind was filled with happy memories.

All the times he had gotten a pat in the back from Tony and being called his new favorite for teasing Steve’s righteous stiffness and the way Bucky and Sam snickered at it. As well as his training contests with the super soldiers to test their serum with Loki and Thor’s godly nature. How he beamed with pride at the blond’s praise after a mission. The way Natasha and her little sister acknowledge his ability to infiltrate and swoon targets and even required him specifically. How Clint and his little new protegee had gotten really happy when Loki gifted them his old Asgardian bows for them, despite the teasing when they saw right through his “I don’t even use them” excuse and treated for dinner after. Bruce acknowledging his observation capabilities during some of his experiments. Thor… who despite all the awful things they had gone through never abandoned him, and still saw Loki as his baby brother, and despite they refused to admit it, both still adored each other.

And you. You had stolen his heart from minute one. He had been hopeless before the first kiss or even a declaration. Your eyes brought him to his knees, and he had sworn to be at your mercy for the rest of his existence when he saw you smile. And with that power you had over him done nothing but nourish him. Your payback when he pestered you was always fun and harmless. You made him laugh. You listened to everything he said and always encouraged him to keep talking until he was hoarse. You gave him the attention he had been craving for so many years. You treated him as the most important being of the universe.

Honestly, he didn’t realize when his thoughts had set him in motion. But by the time he was aware of his actions, he was already turning the doorknob of your shared bedroom.

“Liar” you scoffed, throwing a teddy bear to his face as soon as he set foot inside the room. “You said you’d be here before I was done putting on my jammies, but it’s been 5 minutes since I got in bed, and you weren’t here.”

Loki couldn’t help but smile. For a secret agent, you were terrible at hiding your feelings… at least from him.

“I apologize for not keeping my word, love” he apologized as he took off his shirt and searched through his drawer for the pajama he wanted to wear. “I lost track of time.”

“Did you drink?” you asked him.

“I did not. I trusted my favorite thing to make me tea” he responded with an innocent look as he put on his pajama shirt.

“It’s on your night table” you responded with the slightest pout, knowing you it was because he saw right through you.

He walked to the warm mug and took a sip. Of course, you had prepared his favorite tea… and with extra honey, just the way he liked. Everyone always complained there would never be enough for everyone if you kept spoiling Loki with his favorite all the time. You always got more, but it just meant starting the cycle again.

“Thank you, dear” he smiled as he kneeled on the bed to reach and cup your face to kiss your cheek.

Oh, how he wanted to tackle you and cover you in kisses at the way you fought and lost against the smile that appeared on your lovely face along with a light shade of pink.

“So adorable…” he chuckled.

As he was taking off his pants, he saw the way your blush turned even darked. He rushed to put on the pajama pants and dove in the bed, wrapping his arms around you in a loving embrace with his chest against your back.

“You’re in a lovely mood” you smiled as you reached to caress his cheek. “What gives?”

“I just thought about a lovely little mortal” he hummed pressing soft kisses on your nape, “that makes my darkest days bright and cozy.”

“Do you have a fever or something?” you touched his forehead.

“No, I mean it!” he laughed. “I stayed back to think… and all I could think about was your love, your kindness, and this hot body of yours…”

As he spoke that last bit, he reached to caress your sides, making you giggle.

“Loki…!” you giggle swatting his hand away. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“You know I am” he whispered, resting his face against your shoulder. Taking in your scent, closing his eyes as he relaxed. “Norns, what would I do without you?”

“Probably snuggle your pillow tonight” you smiled. “But you’d be fine.”

“I would not…” Loki choked up, as he felt tears forming in his eyes. “I would be lost; I would be absolutely nothing without you. A monster…”

“No, no, baby…” you spoke softly, turning around to face him. “You’ve worked really hard to be better… That’s all you, you are utterly and undoubtedly wonderful…”

The way you always made him feel better was almost scary. Your word was law. If you said he was so good, then… perhaps he wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“I love you…” he whispered. “Thank you…”

“What for?”

“For being my second chance… For believing I was more than the man that caused so much pain to your people…”

“Second chances are earned, Loki” you said. “You’ve earned it.”

He laughed softly when you rose up to sit on his waist, straddling him with your legs as you gave him a pseudo-menacing look.

“Now speak poorly of my sweet cuddly honeybun and you will be sorry…” you said in the worse threatening tone he had ever heard.

He cringed and laughed softly at the overly cheesy pet name.

“Oh gods…” he muttered with a shaky smile as his lips twitched upwards, amused by the situation. “You goofball.”

You let out an offended gasp and started tickling his sides, immediately making him giggle like a child.

“W-Wait! Dahahaharling! I’m sohohohohohrry!” he whined between laughs.

“Nope! Sorry ain’t gonna cut it this time, you insult me, you insult my prince… you deserve being chastised” you said playfully as you tickled his belly, which always made him hysterical.

“NAHAHAHA! STOP! STOP! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!” he cackled, soon wheezing. He was so ridiculously ticklish that had had no chance fighting back or think about anything else but the tingles that made him howl with laughter.

But he wouldn’t change this kind of silly fun with his darling for the world. And if he was honest with himself, this was a great thing to focus on.

| MASTERPOST |

[entitled-fangirl]

Four days of hell.

Duncan Visla x Swedish!reader

Summary: Duncan curses Blut for involving his neighbor in the man's schemes.

Warnings: torture, blood, inappropriate comments, cursing, name-calling, shooting, idk just Duncan Visla things.

Author's note: I thought it was spelled Vizla, but the closed captions said Visla. Idk. Either way, I guess.

Masterlist

...........................................................

Duncan was enraged.

Here he was, held up by chains like an animal, awaiting his fate at the hands of Mr. Blut.

And they had taken her in the process.

Y/N.

Mr. Blut walked through the doors, the light revealing little but the bright red of his suit. And behind him was Y/N.

She had a collar wrapped around her neck, the leash being held by the man.

Duncan was ready do make him regret the day he was born.

Mr. Blut handed the leash off to one of the guards who ties it to a nearby pole.

"You hurt me, Mr. Visla. And that cannot be repaid with a swift, impersonal death."

He slowly takes off his jacket as he speaks, replacing it with a transparent apron.

"When the English caught the traitor William Wallace, they dragged him naked through the street for six miles so that peasants could smear their warm, fresh piss and shit on him…"

Duncan didn't even bother paying attention to the man, his eyes resting solely on the girl, as if his gaze would be enough to unlock the chains on the two of them.

The old man remembers the day she came into his life. He has been out splitting logs when he heard a noise coming from around the house next door.

Y/N had fallen outside in the snow, and now sat in it, half embarrassed, half amused.

Although Duncan hadn't noticed the fall, he saw the girl immediately and found himself walking in her direction.

The girl, as it had turned out, had just moved from Sweden, and was trying her luck at a life in America.

Duncan thought her foolish for picking Montana of all places, but he would never say that to her.

In the fall, she had scratched her leg, and hadn't noticed the red seeping into the snow. So, Duncan helped the poor girl into the house. 

And that was eight months ago.

He had grown too fond of the girl since then and he now was cursing himself for it.

"…because the traitor had hurt the king."

Duncan snapped away from his thoughts and back to the situation in front of him. He was dripping sweat as his eyes glared at the man.

"…I guess Wallace hurt England pretty bad," Mr. Blut leaned in towards Duncan, "YOU hurt ME pretty bad, Mr. Visla. I have four days before I have to kill you. Four days of HELL! And on your birthday….

…you die."

Y/N had sat against the pole she was tied to, her eyes focused on Duncan's face. She had never seen the older man like this: focused, angry, and unforgiving. It was a scary sight for her.

But beyond that, she focused on the man in the red suit's words. She was struggling learning all of the English words, and lots of them she had missed just then. But the ones she did catch were the most important ones. 

Something about his birthday and hell and dying.

She continued to watch her neighbor closely. So much so, that she didn't notice the other man shift his gaze to her.

Mr. Blut gave a sick smile as he turned back to Duncan, "I'm going to have a little fun with your lady. And you're gonna watch."

She didn't quite understand what he meant, but she saw Duncan's eyes narrow just slightly.

He held a picture up to Duncan of the girl that was taken earlier, her body in a kneeling position and the man's hand gripped her jaw, his thumb in her mouth. She looked scared and confused in it, and Duncan was ready to murder.

Mr. Blut held up a knife, stabbing the picture into Duncan's chest. 

Duncan let out a groan.

Y/N pushed herself forward slightly, her eyes wide in shock. A small shriek left her lips but she covered it with her mouth.

Mr. Blut moved to his instruments of torture, "So I've given it some thought, and I've decided that we're gonna start…" he held up a small snipping tool, "…with these. Music please."

The man proceeded to cut Duncan's skin to the sound of the bagpipes. 

The sounds of Duncan's wails and cries becoming too much for the girl. She backed herself up against the pole, covering her ears and shutting her eyes tightly.

After what felt like hours, he finally stopped his torture. He pulled the knife from Duncan's body, taking the picture with him. 

"The fun continues tomorrow, Mr. Visla."

He untied Y/N, dragging her out of the room with him.

The door closed, the lights shut off, and Duncan's chains were given slack, making the exhausted man fall to the ground in a slump.

…

The pattern continued for the next three days. The endless torturing, the pained cries, the blood, and the crying girl in the corner.

By the third day, Duncan was entirely disoriented, his eyes not moving as fast as he wanted them to. His body wasn't listening to his brain and he was dying of blood loss.

Mid-torture, Blut's knife broke in Duncan's torso. He cursed at the man, and held up the remaining part of the blade. "You broke my favorite knife."

But Duncan wasn't responding. He could barely keep his eyes open. 

Blut got in his face, "I said, you've broken my favorite— hello?"

He cut at Duncan's cheek to try to get a reaction, but none came.

"I'm obviously not getting through to you, am I?"

And with that, he stabbed the broken blade into Duncan's eye.

Duncan screamed, the deep vibrato echoing in the room.

Y/N let out a shriek, her voice finally coming through. "Sluta! Sluta såra honom!" 

Blut looked over his shoulder, taking the blade from Duncan's eye. He looks back, pulling Duncan's face up by his hair. "The fun continues tomorrow, Mr. Visla."

As he walked back towards the door, he stopped by the girl. He leaned close.

The girl was panting now, her voice now turning soft compared to the shriek she had given earlier, "p…please."

The man kicked at her legs in anger. "You'll learn to shut your fucking mouth, you little whore."

She retreated slightly, her eyes wide.

Blut turned back towards Duncan. "And for your birthday present, Mr. Visla… you get to keep your whore tonight."

And then he left.

…

The silence continued in the space for longer than she would have liked.

Duncan could barely keep his eyes open.

"D…Duncan?"

He let out a groan of recognition at the sound of her voice.

"What did… what were the words he said… about me? I tried to follow but I… it was too fast."

A light hum from the man and a strained, "…No."

She nodded, understanding to keep to herself. 

"Sleep…"

She turned her head to Duncan. "W…what?"

"…sleep."

A nod, and she leaned back against the pillar, letting herself fall asleep.

…

The next day, Y/N awoke to the sound of gunshots. She jumped, her head swiveling to Duncan.

She watched as Duncan fought off the guards. She was unfamiliar with the sound of bones snapping until that day.

She hid as much as she could to avoid the bullets that flew across the room. Duncan stood straight when it was done, his mind now focused, and his body responsive like never before.

He took heavy steps to the girl who now was looking up at him with an unreadable expression.

When he neared her, he took the piece of broken blade in his hand, and stared at the collar, as if asking for permission to touch.

When she nodded, he stood in front of her now, her head tilted up from her place of the ground to look at the ex-assassin.

His fingers lightly ghosted over the scratch on his cheek, his eyes studying it closely.

She let him, unsure of what it was he was doing.

Finally when he deemed her alright physically, he knelt down face-to-face with her, his hand fidgeting with the collar's lock until it opened.

He threw it from her frame, his eyes now ghosting over the bruises that laid under the collar.

He took deep breaths.

"Did he touch you?"

She tilted her head slightly in confusion.

He sighed, "Did he… hurt you in other ways?"

She slowly shook her head.

He left out the biggest sigh of relief. "You're gonna follow me. And you're going to do everything I say without hesitation."

He grabbed her arm, pulling her up with him.

When he hurt more guards climbing the stairs, he pushed up under a table. "Stay there."

He then shot the light box, making the building lose power.

The guards came in slowly and on edge, their flashlights being their only source of light.

Duncan managed to take them out one by one.

When they had been cleared from the room and the outer room, he whistled lowly and the girl slowly emerged, following him down the stairs.

He checked around each corner carefully before leading her through. Once they entered the underground tunnel, he took the fire extinguisher off the wall. "Cover your ears and stay right there."

He threw the extinguisher around the corner and shot it, making the guards both with ringing ears and blind eyes.

After a lot of shooting, she heard his whistle again and moved to follow.

She stepped close to him then felt a hand wrap around her throat from behind, a gun now pointed at her temple.

"Don't move, Visla."

Duncan cursed under his breath and turned around slowly, his calculating eyes taking in the sight, "Give me the girl."

The guard pushed against the girl's already bruised windpipe. "I said don't move."

"Christ…"

The man was shot before Y/N even processed that Duncan had moved.

She felt his body crumple to the ground, his voice pleading.

Duncan stepped to them slowly, taking the man's shirt in his grip. He punched the man harshly.

And again.

And again.

And she let him.

After about six punches, Duncan fell to the ground in exhaustion. 

She knelt down beside him with a gently hand on his upper back.

He finally stood up with her help, and they slowly walked out of their seemingly endless enclosure. 

He pulled her to him, placing a gentle kiss at her temple.

Duncan held her close, and she let him. The blood seeping into her clothes didn't bother her at all.

.......................................................

Part 2 would be cute :)))

[mothiir]

Fulgrim’s Guide to the Care and Keeping of Your New Pet Human

so this is inspired by the space marine husbandry posts floating about, but because it’s Konrad it got quite dark 😅

-

Darling Konrad, words cannot convey my delight that you have decided to welcome a human into your home. They are such wonderful companions, and so rewarding — but since it is your first time owning one I thought that I would put together a little guide for you!

Your humans first days at home:

I think it is simply wonderful that you’re adopting a rescue human — the Great Crusade has left so many of the poor dears without a home to call their own! You mentioned in your letter that you found her after the fall of Mercodia VI — am I right in assuming that she is one of the survivors of that little unpleasantness? If so, she may well be even more wary than normal, but don’t worry. Humans have quite short memories, and given enough time and care she’ll soon forget the fate of her family and friends. After all, they were awful traitors and got what they deserved for defying Father’s will — but in the meantime, don’t take anything she says personally. She’ll be upset and confused and will quite possibly lash out at you. I would advise letting her settle in on her own for a few days— maybe even a week or so. Put her in a room where your sons can’t trouble her (I’m sure the sweet little bats mean well, but they will play far too roughly for her), and give her some food and water. If you hear her crying, don’t worry — this is all very new for her, and she is probably quite overwhelmed. Eventually, she should calm down, and start exploring the room more thoroughly. Humans can be escape artists, so make sure it is well-secured. When you are ready to interact with her, I recommend skipping her morning meal so you can feed her yourself, therefore creating a positive association — you are the bringer of food! Don’t try and hand feed her; place the food on a plate and slide it towards her. Let her get used to eating with you in the room. She will probably be quite grubby, and humans are by nature fastidious creatures, so offer her a wet cloth and a bowl to clean herself, and a change of clothing. Avert your eyes if she makes use of either. Humans — especially female humans — do not like being watched while they disrobe. The key to helping your human settle in is consistency and patience! The initial adjustment period will be difficult but I promise you it will all be worth it.

Feeding:

Humans are relatively easy to feed. They require far less nutrition than your average Astartes and they will eat pretty much anything. However, in order to keep your human in the pinnacle of health I suggest a varied diet with plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables, and lots of clean water. Humans enjoy sugar, but make sure you don’t give her too much — it’s bad for her teeth. If you give her a meal she does not eat, do not get angry with her: humans can be picky eaters. Ask her what sort of food she would like to be given in future. Keep a note of what food she prefers. Food is an excellent way to build trust, as I noted above, and a great conversation starter. Just please do not tell her that you consume human flesh — humans tend to be squeamish about such things.

Grooming:

I have included some soap, shampoo and conditioner with this letter — I appreciate that you might not know quite how to use them, but present them to your human and I assure you she will be most grateful. Humans enjoy keeping themselves clean — indeed, it can be very sweet to watch them cover themselves with bubbles! — and I am sure she arrived into your keeping quite disgusting with the remnants of battle.

It probably goes without saying, but just to be clear: do not let her bathe with or near your sons. They will probably get a little overexcited. When they have learned to pet her nicely, then they can interact with her — but always under your supervision.

I have also included some clothes. Part of the joy of having a human is being able to dress them up, and it can be a fantastic bonding experience for you both. However, do not force it. Present her with the options and let her pick one. If there is one you would rather her wear, introduce it slowly — let her choose between that option, and something hideous. Don’t force her — everything should be done gently, coaxing her along. And that brings us to our next point —

Training:

I was going to call this section ‘discipline’ but I thought that sent the wrong idea. You should never punish your human as you would an Astartes. She is breakable in more ways than one — not only physically frail, but mentally as well. The sort of rough treatment that your sons would shrug off could quite easily kill her.

Instead of punishing undesirable behaviours, redirect her focus. For example, as I mentioned above she may be quite upset with you for burning her planet and flaying the inhabitants. This is a natural behaviour — that is, the human pack bonding instinct — but expressed poorly (that is, through denying the supremacy of the Emperor’s will). Do not punish her for being angry at you; instead, work on healthier outlets for her pack-bonding instincts. It may be a little earlier for her to pack-bond with you, so I’d suggest getting her something she can pack-bond with instead. A puppy is always a good option, though if you do decide to do this please ask me for breed recommendations, because I have seen the dogs that are native to Nostrames and I do not think they are suitable pets for an ork, let alone a human.

She may try and escape. Once again, this is her natural behaviour to explore and colonise. Try playing hide and seek with her, or encouraging her to wander the ship under your supervision.

Naming:

Your human probably comes with her own name, but to answer your question — yes, you can change it. In order to get her to answer to the new name, inform her that this is her new title, and reward her every time she responds to it. It might be difficult, but not impossible.

Regarding the name itself: none of the names First Captain Sevetar suggested are acceptable. Most aren’t actual names. Please do not take his advice in naming your new pet.

Spaying/neutering, the physical, are you really planning to — The other stuff:

I understand that the physical side of your relationship with your human is your primary concern at present, as you mentioned in your letter. Repeatedly. And although I do appreciate the detail you went into when describing her assets, I would recommend that you do not repeat most of what you wrote to her. I understand that you think ‘your face looks better on your skull than it would on my trophy wall so you get to keep your face’ is a compliment — and it is! — but humans are not quite as au fait with the finer points of language as we are, so she will probably take it the wrong way.

I am not saying that you cannot progress to greater intimacy with your human — I have been married four times (to women, despite what Russ likes to say), and it is quite the experience. However, I really must urge that you give her time to settle in and become accustomed to your presence, so she is more likely to reciprocate your advances.

When you feel she has started to warm to you a little, write to me again and I can help guide you through the next stage of human ownership. It is a marathon, not a sprint, but all the more rewarding for it!

As an aside — whatever Captain Sevetar says regarding intimacy is wrong. Do not listen to his advice. Do not do anything he suggests. If anything, do the opposite.

Forever yours, and all the love in the galaxy,

Fulgrim

[rentsturner]

Alex Turner boyfriend headcanons

an: I haven’t written in a really fucking long time (if head canons count as writing idk?) so apologies if these are shit or there's typos and whatnot. Many thanks to @dropofdrool for helping me proof read and organise these, it’s much appreciated <3. finally, I know Alex is a real person but this is a work of FICTION and I have approached this as if writing for a fictional character - I am making no assumptions about Alex as a real person, just in case anyone wants to come at me. thanks for reading

AT HOME

He smells like cigarettes and clean laundry

You call him Elvis to annoy him - he will sulk about it for at least an hour (or at least pretend to) until you relent and apologise

He secretly quite likes it though

Making him watch Love Island and him being so confused and slightly scared

‘Are they allowed guitars in the villa?’ ‘I would get so bored in there’

Eventually gets invested in all the drama and is hooked

Will watch it every night even if you’re not there (traitor)

You definitely get handwritten love letters left round the house (come on we’ve all seen the evidence)

eg when he goes on tour, you’ll find little notes hidden in the pocket of your jeans or in the back of your phone case

He knows so many obscure and random words that you’ve never heard of and he’ll just throw them into a conversation sometimes to annoy you

He’s always jotting lyrics in his notebook and you have to wonder if he’s writing about you

When you argue you proper argue cos neither of you likes to admit you’re wrong

You always end up sorting it out though (usually with alex buying you flowers and a good dose of make up sex)

Alex is a pro napper - he falls asleep so easy and anywhere, it’s a habit from all the time he’s spent on tour

One of his favourite things is to have a nap with you, legs tangled together, him softly snoring into your shoulder

When he wakes up his hair is all ruffled and his eyes bleary, but he’s never looked better

Both reading your books together before bed <3 (he defo has reading glasses)

Alex has tried to teach you to play guitar so many times, but it always ends in sex

Cos he thinks the best way to teach you is to put his hands over yours, and press himself right up against your back, and whisper soft praises in your ear when you don’t fumble a chord, and then he sees your soft skin just where your neck joins your shoulder and he can’t help but press open mouthed kisses there and then you’re distracted and then…

It’s obviously never going to end well

ON TOUR

Obviously he tours a lot and most of the time you will travel with him, if he’s not busy

When he comes off stage he has two moods

He will either be so hyped and take hours to calm down, like will be constantly making some form of physical contact with you (holding your hand, pressing himself against your back, forehead kisses, normal kisses, randomly grabbing your hands and dancing with you)

Or he will be really quiet and tired, you can see it in his face that the concert has just taken it out of him

Usually when he’s like this, you just sit with him backstage for a while, just the two of you, sometimes in comfortable silence or sometimes just whispering sweet nothings to him and playing with his hair

You try not to let him speak too much cos if he’s in that mood then his throat is probably feeling rough

He usually just needs an hour or two to decompress, then he’s back to his usual self, he always apologises to you after for being like that, but you don’t mind looking after him, he would do the same for you

It's sometimes hard being away for him for so long when he’s on tour

like when he’s touring the day of your anniversary

He thinks you’re at home, he facetimed you that morning and had sent your present in the post to be delivered.

However, the rest of the boys secretly fly you (along with a few of your best mates) out to the show and manage to get a place in the front pit

You bring a massive poster sign saying ‘SHEFF WEDS R SHITE’ which easily gets his attention after a few songs

He goes to shout something rude but then he sees your beaming face under the poster, he can’t believe his eyes

He goes on to play all of your favourite songs with the biggest smile on his face and literally can’t take his eyes off you the entire show

After the show you manage to get backstage to see him and he’s so happy to see you

‘You didn’t really mean what you said on the poster though, did you?’

ON HOLIDAY

Holidays all the time, Alex loves taking you away

Like when he’s touring, if you aren’t working or busy, he’ll fly you out to join him in whatever city he’s in

You’ll usually go out for lunch during the day and sit by the pool in the hotel they’re holed up in, then go and watch the concert in the evening

You see so many cities that you’d never usually go to thanks to him

When he’s not touring he loves going on adventure holidays - biking, hiking, horse riding, skiing, bungee jumping - if it involves thrills or good views, he’s down.

even if you refuse to do some of the scarier stuff, he doesn’t mind - he loves just having you there, and he needs someone to take the photos of course!

basically it would just be the dream life icl

[swmzq]

smut w ferran torres where you guys don’t like each other but you work for barca’s pr team so you’re around each other a lot. you’re at a charity event and have to look after ferran because he drinking loads when he needs to do interviews and so you drag him into an empty room to tell him off and one thing leads to another anddd🤭

change whatever and add whatever, this is just a little thought😵‍💫

𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄, 𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

pairing: ferran torres x fem!reader

warnings: smut, alcohol use, swearing, semi public sex,Enemies into loverssss

authors note: i love this request! I fell in love with it immediately when I saw it and started writing directly. Btw this is like my first time writing smut so it’s prob not the best! And call me dumb or whatever but I’m not entirely sure what a PR does so I just went with the one who like follows the team around and look after them kinda and their like photo shoots or events, etc! Rushed sorry!!

MASTERLIST

Dividers by: @tattooedeverything

I let out another groan as my alarm blared for the second time that morning. Rolling over with great effort, due to the ache in my lower back, I scanned the time on my phone through bleary eyes. 7:03 AM. I had hit snooze for an extra seven minutes of rest but knew I couldn't delay getting up any longer without risking being late for my morning meeting.

As my feet hit the cold hardwood floor, a shiver ran up my spine in response. The hard floors did nothing to alleviate the pain radiating through my hips and lower back. I stretched my arms overhead slowly, feeling several joints in my upper back pop in the process. While the movement relieved some of the tension, it did nothing for the underlying discomfort.

In the bathroom, I twisted the faucets of the shower until steam began billowing out of the bathroom.

Stepping under the hot spray, I sighed in relief as the pounding water massaged away some of the knots in tired muscles. Despite the pleasant sensation, I couldn't help but mentally grumble about how my back had gotten into such a state.

I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a fluffy towel to dry myself off. After wrapping it around my waist, I used another to rough dry my hair. The knots were always worse after sleeping on it wet. Padding over to the sink, I plugged in my hair dryer and began the tedious process of detangling each section.

As I brushed, more joints popped and muscles stretched in my neck and shoulders. My reflection in the foggy mirror showed the tired lines etched deeply in my face. Dark circles hung under my eyes that no amount of concealer seemed able to fully hide lately. I didn't know if it was the frequent late nights at the office or growing stress from dealing with problem players like Ferran, but my self-care had definitely slipped.

Once my hair was mostly dry, I parted it neatly and began applying a light layer of moisturizer. The steamy bathroom had helped soothe some surface tensions, but my back was still tight. I'd have to request an appointment with the chiropractor soon at this rate. Hopefully a visit could help loosen things up so I wasn't shuffling around like an old man in constant pain.

With a final appraisal of myself in the mirror, I turned to get dressed for the day. Yet as I left the bathroom, my traitorous mind again drifted to wondering what new hassle Ferran would cause at our meeting that morning.

I walked into my bedroom and went to the closet to select an outfit for the day. Given it was expected to be warmer than usual, I chose something basic out of my closet.

Once dressed, I headed to the vanity to do my makeup. I applied a light foundation to even out my skintone and conceal the dark circles. A few strategic swipes of blush brought some color back to my cheeks as well. My normal eyebrow pencil and mascara routine followed. While doing my makeup, I thought more about the meeting ahead.

Working for barça’s PR, I would have to hear Ferran's latest complaints first thing. We had been working overtime to smooth things over after his photoshoot snub. My mind ran through possible responses and tactics to defuse Ferran without further stoking the flames of his discontent. A swipe of clear lip gloss was the finishing touch.

Checking the time, I saw I needed to head out soon if I wanted to grab a coffee on my commute. With one last look in the mirror to check my appearance was neat and polished, I grabbed my handbag and keys. Mentally preparing for the impending storm that was Ferran Torres, I headed out the door to start another day at the office.

I rolled my eyes as I tossed the papers onto the desk, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Another fucking charity event, just what I needed. Dealing with drunk players was already a pain in the ass, but adding Ferran Torres to the mix made it even worse.

The sound of knocking filled the air, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Come in!” I called out, turning around to see who it was.

The door swung open, and in stepped Ferran Torres, a grin spreading across his face. “Hey, are you coming to the charity event tonight?” he asked.

I let out a heavy sigh and rubbed my temple, before responding. “Do I have a choice?” I asked sarcastic. “Just please, please, please don’t drink to much tonight and don’t embarrass me like you always do when your drunk.“ I add leaning my head to the side.

“Is that all you're asking?” Ferran questioned, the grin growing wider. I rolled my eyes at him, “Yes, that's all I'm asking," I replied. “Just please, don't get too drunk tonight. You have important interviews to do”

“I'll try my best,” Ferran promised with a chuckle, giving you a playful salute.

”Just try,” I repeated. “You know how much of a pain it is for me to help you to the car with your teammates.”

“I know, I know,” Ferran said, letting out a sigh. He wanted to tell me that he didn't need my help, but he knew he couldn't do it alone. He hated admitting it, but he needed me more than he would ever admit.

An hour pass by and Ferran couldn’t stop talking making me wanna fall asleep right there.

“By the way, I heard that you’re maybe leaving soon for another club. Would be lovely if the rumors were true for once.” Ferran said, a smug smile plastered on his face.

Well that just took a fucking turn, I thought for myself before answering. “Well Torres I have bad news for you I’m not going anywhere so you can keep dreaming”

Ferran's smile only grew wider at my response, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Really now? You're not leaving?” He repeated, his voice laced with fake disappointment. “That's too bad, I was really looking forward to not having to deal with your attitude on a daily basis.” He chuckled to himself, clearly finding my reaction hilarious.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but I pretty sure that this is my office, and you just came in here”

“Yeah, I know. I'm in your territory” Ferran said with a wave of his hand.

“But hey, let's be real. This place could use a bit of my charm.” He grinned, walking further into the room as if he owned the place.

I groan pinching the bridge of my nose. “Just get out I already have to deal with you at this charity event”

"I'll be sure to make it worth your while," he said with a wink before turning and leaving the room, leaving me alone with my annoyance.

The room was packed and loud, making navigation difficult in my tight heels. I squeezed through the bustling crowd towards the couches, feet aching with each step.

Reaching the couches, I practically collapsed onto the plush cushions with relief. Leaning down, I massaged one sore foot gently. Moments later, the cushion dipped beside me though I didn't bother to look over.

A familiar voice spoke up over the din. “Hard night already?”

I turned tiredly to see Ferran grinning from inches away. “You have no idea,” I sighed, not in the mood for small talk.

It felt like it only got louder and louder for every minute that passed by. I just wanted to go home and sleep but I knew that I couldn’t leave cause if a player got to drunk I’ll need to take care of it like always.

Ferran hadn’t moved a muscle yet but haven’t said anything either. Weird he would always say something to piss me off or just say something in general, he usually talks my head off about something i couldn’t care less about but a part of me likes having him accompanying me.

I rose from the couch, shaking out the wrinkles in my dress while Ferran also stood. ”Well I'm going to get a drink,” I said, still wondering at his unusually solicitous behavior.

”Let me come with you,” he offered with an easy smile. I must have looked surprised because Ferran's smile faltered.

”Ferran, what's going on?” I asked, furrowing my brow in confusion. ”Why are you being so...nice?”

His expression softened at my question. ”What, can't I be nice to you?” he tried to joke, but I wasn't ready to let it slide so easily.

Holding his gaze, I asked more seriously, ”Is this some kind of bet?”

Ferran shook his head earnestly. ”Why would it be a bet, Y/N?”

I sigh as i continue ”Because you're almost never this normal towards me.” We'd shared an odd push-pull dynamic from the start, with more pushing on my part to rein in his antics.

His expression soften almost like he was trying to tell me something but before he even could say anything I cleared my throat turning slightly to avoid his gaze. “Well I guess I’ll see you later tonight”

I weaved through the bustling crowd towards the bar. The surrounding noise and activity seemed to fade into the background as I slightly pushed past people.

I leaned against the bar, signaling the bartender. My exchange with Ferran had left me perplexed, and now I just wanted to unwind without further confusion.

When the bartender asked my order, I replied tiredly, “Honestly anything. I just want to loosen up a bit.” He nodded with a smile and set to mixing something.

The night's events weighed heavy in my mind. Ferran's uncharacteristic kindness was puzzling after our past rifts. I gazed absently at the sparkling bottles, trying to make sense of this shift. Had I misjudged him all along?

My drink materialized - a vibrant sour topped with berries and sparklers. Its playful colors seemed to brighten my mood a touch. I took a refreshing sip, feeling the tension ease from my shoulders.

I thanked the bartender with a smile before turning to survey the crowded room, cool glass in hand. The charity event was now in full swing, guests mingling and dancing joyously all around.

My gaze tracked idly over familiar faces, donors and colleagues alike, lost in the swirl of conversation and movement. A twinge of envy struck seeing couples embrace on the dance floor in a way work seldom allowed.

Taking a refreshing sip of my fruity cocktail, I let the bubbles tickle my senses and soothe frazzled nerves. For the first time that evening, I allowed myself to simply observe without agenda or task.

That's when I spotted Ferran across the way, engaged in lively dialog with a group. Surprise struck seeing him throw his head back in true laughter, carefree and charismatic as I'd seldom seen.

Our unlikely understanding at the bar now replayed in my mind. Perhaps there was more beneath the surface of Ferran than I'd assumed all these years. A small smile formed, carrying faint hope and intrigue in equal measure.

The night was in full swing by now, the charity event attendees thoroughly enjoying all the festivities. I, however, was feeling utterly spent after hours of circulating and making pleasant small talk.

My feet ached dreadfully in the confining heels, each step sending jolts of pain up my legs. All I wanted was to remove the torture devices and prop my feet up with an ice pack. But with many guests still mingling, my duties weren't done.

I felt a little tap on my shoulder making me turn to see a concerned Pablo.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, concerned by his unexpected intrusion and serious expression.

“Um, Ferran is pretty drunk and he won't stop talking about you,” Pablo explained nervously.

My stomach clenched uneasily at the news. Drunk Ferran was unpredictable at best. At worst, he could cause a disastrous scene and damage our organization's reputation.

“Take me to him,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

We found Ferran at the bar, swaying on his stool and slurring overly familiar nothings to the uncomfortable bartender. His eyes lit up childishly when he spotted me.

“There's my girl!” he exclaimed loudly, twisting to face me with outstretched arms making people around us glance over at us. He fucking promised he wouldn’t get to drunk tonight

I shot Ferran an exasperated look upon finding him in such an inebriated state, mere minutes before his big interview. Gently but firmly, I took his arm and led him toward the nearest empty room.

Once inside with the door shut, I turned to face him, hands on my hips. “Ferran are you fucking serious, you have interviews in like thirty minutes and your this drunk? You promised me”

He scoffed leaning his head back. “Why are you overreacting I’m fine. I’m fine” I groan putting an hand on my forehead. “why am I overreacting? Terran what do you think people will think of you when they see you on the interviews totally shit faced?”

“Why do you give a shit anyways?” Ferran said raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe cause it’s my job to look after you and make sure you’re not like this during interviews or games.” I was pacing back and fourth in the room thinking about what we should do.

“I’m not a child i can look after myself.” He says getting closer.

“Well you’re fucking acting like one.” Before I could process anything ferran pulled me into a kiss. His lips were warm against mine, but the suddenness caught me off-guard, sending a rush of adrenaline through my veins. When I finally managed to break apart from him, I narrowed my eyes, trying to read the inebriated man in front of me.

“Well maybe I am, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want this” he slurred, his hands grabbing at my arms to pull me back in for another kiss. His breath reeked of alcohol, but there was something about it that made me feel dizzy and lightheaded.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling his head back to deepen the kiss. Ferran let out a groan, his arms wrapping around my waist to pull you closer. “I fucking hate you but I really need you,” he muttered against my lips.

“Ferran we can’t your interview starts in thirty minutes and you can’t be this shit faced” I groan against his lips.

“I don’t care, I need you.” Ferran whispers against my lips, his hands roaming over my body. I broke away from the kiss. “We can't do this here, what if someone catches us?” I whisper yell.

“Then we’ll have to be quiet,” he said, his lips trailing down my neck as he lifted me up against the wall, his hands gripping my thighs to steady me.

His hands were rough and unsteady, but it only added to the intensity of the moment. I let out a soft moan as he slid his fingers under my panties, teasing my folds with his fingers. “You're already this wet?” he murmured against your skin, his lips moving lower.

Ferran's mouth moved lower and pulled down my dress revealing my lacy bra, his lips brushing against my nipples through the fabric of my bra. He tugged at the cups, revealing my breasts as he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at it while his other hand continued to work its magic below.

I closed my eyes, tilting my head back against the wall as Ferran continued to ravage my body. The feeling of his mouth on my breasts and his fingers between my legs were driving me crazy.

Ferran pulled his mouth away from my breast with a wet pop, he looked up at me with blurry eyes. “I need to be inside you,” he said, his voice strained with desire.

He quickly unzips his pants and pulls out his hard, throbbing cock, not bothering to remove his shoes or tie. He grabs my thighs and lifting my leg a little higher, pressing the head of his cock against my soaked entrance. “Fuck, you're so tight,”

Ferran slides into me with a deep groan, his hand covering my mouth to silence your cries of pleasure.

I grip his shoulders with both hands, my nails digging into his skin as he starts to thrust in and out of me with a fevered urgency.

Ferran's hand remains over my mouth, muffling my screams as he pounds into me, his hips slapping against my thighs with each powerful thrust. He leans forward, pressing me against the wall as he thrusts into me hard and fast, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside me with every stroke.

“You like that, don't you?” Ferran grunts, his breath hot against my cheek. “You like being fucked hard against the wall like a little slut?” He can feel my nails digging deeper into his shoulders as I nod in response.

He takes his hand away from my mouth and grabs my hips, using them as leverage to thrust even deeper inside me. “You're so fucking tight, so wet,” he growls, his eyes locked on mine as he fucks me relentlessly.

My legs wrapping around his waist as he continues to fuck me against the wall. He holds me there, my back pressed against the wall as he pounds into me, his cock stretching my pussy to its limits. “I'm close baby” he softly moans out.

His thrusts becoming more erratic as he nears his climax. He can see the look on my face, my own orgasm building fast, and he's determined to come at the same time as me.

He picks up the pace even more, his hips moving with a feral intensity as he drives into me again and again. And then, with a final deep thrust, he feels his cock erupt inside me, filling me up with hot streams of cum.

Seeing Ferran climax sends me over the edge, and my body convulses with pleasure as wave after wave of orgasmic bliss washes over me.

Ferran holds you against the wall for a moment, he rides out his orgasm. Finally, he sets you back down on your feet, his arms still around your waist as he buries his face in your neck, panting heavily.

I notice as he watches as I fix my dress and bra, his eyes lingering on my breasts for a moment longer than necessary.

I chuckle and clear my throat. “ready for your interviews now?”

Ferran blinks, momentarily pulled out of his reverie. He chuckles and nods, stepping back to give me space. "Yeah, I'm ready." He says, adjusting his clothes as well. "Thanks for the...warm up."

I gave Ferran's arm a reassuring squeeze as he headed into the conference room to shower and prep. Then, acting on impulse, I rose up on tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You better not be as drunk as you were at the interview.” I said firmly but with an undertone of care."

Color rose in Ferran's face, both from drink and touch of lips. But clarity sharpened his gaze. “I won’t” he murmured sincerely

“Well I’ll see you after the interviews.” I say as I give him a playful wink, then turning and making my way back to the main building where the interviews are being held. Ferran watches me go, his eyes smoldering once again as he mentally undresses you.

I just knew that it was gonna be a long night

Srry if it’s bad but it’s like my first time writing a serious fic

Taglist: @vogrinciq @cupidsvzq

[chigirisprincess]

Covered in the Colour of You ࿐

— Armin Arlert

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, cisfem reader (use of girl as reference to the reader), reader's hair gets combed through, reader wears a nightgown, post-canon exploration of characters and setting, reader is mentally ill (so is Armin), hunger as a metaphor for desire, love as consumption, love confessions, first times (Armin is a virgin, Reader is not), first kisses, sex on a table, some foreplay, unprotected sex, creampies, ambiguous ending, angst, hurt/some comfort, childhood friends to lovers. ⊹ Run time. 10k ⊹ Note. I don't know how we got here but I'm glad we did. This was meant to be a cute comfort fic to deal with the ending of Attack on Titan but it became so much more, I hope you enjoy.

❝A surprise visit from your childhood friend, Armin Arlert forces you to confront the feelings you've been harbouring for over a decade..❞

The Jägerist’s cries are deafening, they bounce off the clay brick walls of the surrounding houses and slither through your shuttered window panes. Every Tuesday and Thursday, the newly minted Paradis military regiment convenes in the small town square within the rebuilt city of Shiganshina. It took them just under a month to replace the fallen with green boys and girls who were just buzzing at the idea of honouring Eren Jäger and avenging his death. Once Paradis managed to secure the resources– if there were any left– you were certain that the military would erect a bronze statue of Paradis’ “saviour”. For now, they’d bother napping babies and the elderly folk who milled about the area to soak in some of the sun’s sweet warmth. 

Today they seemed to be reminding those who’d spare an ear to listen, that traitors would soon shore and with them came treasonous falsehoods. If not for Queen Historia who still harbours some morsel of affection for her old comrades, they’d be as good as dead the moment their ship docked. Word spread quickly, how you weren’t sure, but like wildfire the claim that Armin Arlert had been the one to kill Eren Jäger scorched the plains and further sowed the seeds of instability amongst the population. 

The irony of such a ludicrous statement was not lost on you. Armin Arlert couldn’t kill Eren Jäger, they were best friends and all of Shiganshina knew there could not be one without the other. You had known the two almost as long as they had known each other. Shiganshina wasn’t so big in those days, Grisha Jäger was the only doctor and Armin’s father was something of a handyman. They were who you called upon when something was amiss and you’d thank them with a warm meal or something sweet. That was what you did in those days, you showed kindness wherever you could. They were so simple, those days when the walls kept secrets and our minds were shrouded with ignorant bliss. Some mornings when you woke before the sun had yet risen, you wished Paradis could have remained tucked safely beneath the blanket King Fritz had pulled over the island. 

What little sense of communal affection remained dwindled with calls to action that erupted from the square.

This morning, the sense of longing that had settled between your lungs weighed heavily as you listened to the shouting. You wished the clock would turn back and the next time you woke, you’d be ten years old and the house you lived in would be your home. It was sort of a sick joke, to be given the keys to the house built upon the rubble of your family's home. Floch handed you the keys as if he had done you this great personal service when it had been Eren, Armin, Mikasa, and their friends who had dug through the wreckage to salvage the home they too had lost. Vagrancy was tiring and what little money you had to your name after years of working for meagre wages that just barely covered your expenses, maybe you should have been grateful to at least collect a few pieces of your life before even if they jagged and misshapen. Something was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

It had to be. 

There needed to be some reason for you to keep going. Lately, there didn’t seem to be any. Everything felt wrong. The once-cobbled streets were made of smooth even stone that allowed you to bounce around the city with ease, it reminded you of the capital. As a child, you often felt jealous that Wall Sina was home to such niceties while you were made to trip over protruding stones and wade through mud puddles in the wet months. Now though, you’d give anything for a semblance of a distant past that would make Shiganshina home once more. But as you lingered around your old haunts, searching for familiar faces and memories that would ease the pain in your chest, all you’d find was something new and foreign that left you feeling disappointed.

Turning over onto your side you curled inwards, a soft sigh passing your lips as you willed your mind to banish the longing that gnawed at you. The cool breeze that glides through your window leaves goosebumps on the bits of flesh that aren’t being swaddled by your thin white blanket. All the battle cries seemed to have simmered down as the sun inched closer toward the middle of the sky. You might be able to catch the morning market before they pack up their wares for the day if you leave now. Your icebox was pathetically empty, with only a head of rapidly wilting lettuce and milk to occupy the space. Sitting upward with a yawn, you cast a glance toward your dresser. Your clothes hang sloppily over the side of the open drawers. You should probably tidy things up before the hour grows too late.

The sleek, mousy brown floorboards that make up the second story of your house do not creak as you pad across the room—your chest aches, though you’ve grown desensitised to the familiar feeling. Your house used to creak and groan when the wind blew too roughly, and the walls were thin enough that you’d wake to the sound of your mother humming as she prepared breakfast for your family. You tried not to dwell too hard, if anything you should have been relieved. An unexpected storm wouldn’t dare to blow the roof off your house now. 

Plucking the soft, brown wool knit cardigan off the lip of your cracked door you slipped the fabric over your body. Your delicate muslin nightgown did little to keep the morning chill away. It did even less to preserve any ounce of modesty. Your bare feet slapped against the stairs as you headed downward, and a soft knock sounded at your door. Pulling your cardigan closer to your body you sighed. It must have been Mrs. Bergmann from next door coming to check on you, make sure you left your house this week, let in some fresh air– function as any other human would, that sort of stuff. She had been widowed long ago, her only son had been one of the many scouts to give his life for a free Paradis. There wasn’t much for her to do aside from checking in on her neighbours. She was a wife, a mother– it was in her nature to nurture all the little lost souls she came across.

“I’m coming Mrs. Bergmann,” You called, your voice echoing around the empty space that would have been your living room, “You don’t need to call in Werner to bust down the door just yet!”

Forcing a smile to your lips, you prepared yourself to open the door. Mrs. Bergmann was well-meaning on the best of days, if a little nosey on the worst. It was better to have someone than no one at all, you remind yourself, pushing back the urge to blanche and roll your eyes at the urgency of her knocking. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you hope your hair wasn’t too gnarly after all the tossing and turning you did last night. The door opens with a soft click as you twist the knob open.

Shock blows through you as you blink at the person on the other side. Your eyes frantically open and close, trying to make sense of who stood before you but as your synapses fired off round after round, searching for something, they found nothing.

“Armin?” You timidly ask, your throat twists up and grows dry.

The syllables on your tongue felt wrong. Maybe, the muscles had just forgotten how his name tasted. As a child, his name rolled off your tongue sweetly and constantly. Back then, there had been too many emotions packed inside your small body, you could never make sense of them, all you knew was that they all led back to the man in front of you. Your cheeks warmed at the reminder of the crush you used to harbour, of how you’d write your name and his, silently calling yourself Mrs. Arlert as if she hadn’t already existed in the form of his mother.

Armin’s cheeks grow round with the shy smile he wears, “Hi,” he says. The remnants of his boyhood live in the soft curve of his jaw and the cherub-like softness of his rosy complexion. 

“Hi,” you breathlessly whispered as you searched for any other lingering signs of familiarity. 

“May I come in?” he asks, his nervous hands smooth imaginary wrinkles in his sage green tie. The breath is selfishly stolen from your lungs by the greedy, monster who lived inside of you. They swallowed back the traces of your youth, you hoped it was enough to placate them because as long as your breath was hitched, no words could come forth.

Armin’s blue eyes curiously peered back at you from beneath his pale blonde lashes. He was still quite pretty, but the edge of maturity that marred his features made your heart flutter in a way it never had. The desperate longing that clawed at your rib cage slowed, pawing instead as its interests morphed into something more amorous. You would have beaten it down if you could, shame prickles your skin as you clear your throat.

“Of course,” you stutter, opening the door to make room for him to enter, “You’ll have to excuse my appearance, I wasn’t expecting any guests this morning.”

His smile is polite, “What about Mrs. Bergmann?” He inquires, his eyes darting around to drink in the interior of your house. It looked just like the one he was raised in but it had been twelve years since he stepped foot in one. The scouts lived in barracks that were carved out of long-since abandoned castles, “You seemed to be expecting her.”

“Ah, not exactly,” you muttered, offering him a seat at your dining table, “She’s just the only visitor I have as of late … So, what brings you by?”

Armin declines the seat, instead pulling out the chair opposite of him for you. You thank him with a small bow of your head. His knuckles brush against your shoulders as he slides his fingertips along the edge of your chair before swinging around to the other side. In a world of boys, Armin Arlert was a gentleman, as he always had been, even at the age of ten when boys took to tugging girls' pigtails for attention. His grandfather would be proud of the young man he’s become. You think Mr. Arlert would have been proud even if all Armin did was survive.

The warm yellow sunlight filters through the windows and turns Armin’s hair a shade of bleach blonde. His skin is tanned, his cheeks rosy. He looks healthy, he’s a bit taller too. His hair was different too now that you took a moment to look at it, only slightly so. The shaved undercut reminded you of the short, stoic captain whose charge Armin was in for years.

Insecurity stirred in your belly. You thought of what you might look like to him being so dishevelled in nothing but a nightgown and cardigan. Unkempt, that is how you must have appeared to him. The bike in your stomach burns at the back of your throat as you cross your legs and tuck as much of your body beneath the table as you can. 

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, resting his linked hands on the table, “It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

It’s been over four years, the bitter overly insecure voice in your head hisses, “It has, but you’ve been busy, saving the world and all,” you say instead, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, “Honestly I must confess, I'm a bit surprised, I thought you and the other ambassadors would be meeting with the Queen.”

What you truly mean to say dangles in the air. Armin can feel it, he shifts in his seat— why wasn’t he with someone more important? How did he manage to sneak past the Jägerists predatory gaze? He shouldn’t have been here. The anguish that wrought the shores of Paradis couldn’t be fixed with a measly conversation but surely, it was a start so, why was he here with you?

“She met our boat at the harbour to ensure our safe passage into the city,” he explains, picking at his fingers, “We’re still trying to coordinate with the army but they’ve agreed to allow free reign of Shiganshina so long as we remain unarmed.”

“It would be rather counterintuitive for peace ambassadors to bear arms.”

Armin lets out a small chuckle, smiling a bit to himself.

“But, they’ve already proved their incompetence in thinking trained soldiers need weapons to fight,” you muttered, casting your eyes away from him, “I … My apologies, I shouldn't speak ill of your comrades.”

“They’ve dissolved the Scout Regiment, I’m no longer a soldier and they are not my comrades,” Armin swiftly replies.

He fiddles with his tie again, flattening out the fabric with scar-riddled hands. The last time you saw him, his skin was surprisingly unmarred. Old scars you could have sworn imprinted his skin ceased to exist, something to do with his newfound titan ability, that’s what Eren said when he rolled up his sleeves to expose his own blemish-free body. It seemed unnatural then, for the pieces of personal history to be erased but Armin felt alien enough without you reminding him of how much he had changed. 

“Yes, but-”

“How are you doing?” He interrupts, and an apologetic look swims within the depths of his baby blue eyes. His time in the military was a touchy subject, which was to be expected but it didn’t wash away the burn of curiosity that ribbed at your bones, “When I last wrote to Mikasa, she said she hadn’t seen you in some time in spite of being neighbours.”

Pursing your lips, you sigh, “I’m doing well Armin,” it’s a bald-faced lie but the two of you have become so estranged, Armin couldn’t know you the way he once did, not when so much time has washed the imprints you’ve pressed upon each other as it brought in the tide, “How are you?”

“That’s not an answer,” Armin frowns, the dip of his lips making his cheeks round in a way that reminds you that he is only twenty-two, “I haven’t seen you in four years, I … I want to know what your life is like.”

Reaching over the table, Armin takes your hand in his. If he notices the irritated and oozing flesh around your cuticles, he keeps it well hidden. Smoothing his thumb over your knuckles, Armin settles his eyes on yours, taking in the two little lines that have been carved into your skin from how often you furrow your brows. There was no “correct” way to tell someone that you spent most of your afternoons curled up in bed, lying listlessly as you listened to the sounds of the bustling street below. Armin had a penchant for worrying, he’d worry about your well-being when there were far more important issues for him to focus on. 

“It’s not so different from before.”

Armin was unconvinced. Eight years ago, after the Scout Regiment took control of the central government, a bit of money was sent your way in addition to your rebuilt childhood home. Though they wouldn’t say it, you believed that Eren, Armin, and Mikasa felt guilty for abandoning you the moment they turned twelve thus becoming eligible to enrol in the Cadet Corps. You had no interest in joining the Scouts, Military Police, or the Garrison but Eren was determined and wherever Eren went so too did Mikasa and Armin. With no family and no friends, you had to fend for yourself. It wasn’t so bad. A woman, you could hardly remember her name now, paid you to care for her youngest child while she and her husband worked, and their older children attended school. She gave you room and board, fed you three square meals, and gave you “hand-me-downs” to wear.

In the chaos of Trost being breeched you became separated and weeks later learned that the family perished. You used what little money you managed to save to pay for board in an inn near Jinae where you worked as a stable hand until your childhood friends and their comrades came bearing gifts. You’d need to find work soon. Now that you were of age, you were sure to find a cushy job as a barmaid at the local tavern. 

“You think it is?” You asked, biting on your bottom lip.

Armin nods. His grip tightens and he mutters a low, “Sorry” when you wince from how he accidentally squishes your fingers beneath his.

Shrugging your shoulders you think back to the before much like you did most days, “Paradis is being run by lunatics who worship a dead man,” you blanche, your chest preemptively tightening from your nerves, “That’s not so different to before when this shitty little island was run by lunatics who worshipped the walls.”

Except now, people actually paid mind to the chirping loons. They had access to weapons that could wipe out what was left of humanity and certainly were unafraid to use them. Crossing them would be a very stupid and very dangerous mistake. Bravery was what this island prided itself on, now the most one could muster was a contempt-filled glower that was sent in passing. 

“That’s not …” Armin’s voice trailed off. There was that look of guilt again. 

“I know.”

Lacing your fingers between his, you squeeze Armin’s hand.

“It’s not your fault, Armin,” you assure, your mouth twisting up into a strange smile. The muscles in your face seemed to ache as though you were contorting your expression, “You know that, right?”

He nods his head, and strands of his pale blonde hair fall against his forehead as he does, “I know,” he whispers with conviction though his hand trembles in yours. You remain unconvinced, guilt rolls off his shoulders in sickening waves.

“It’s not Eren’s fault either.”

You’re unsure why you say it. It was Eren’s fault. It was his name and his image that they fought for. Whatever politics happened behind closed doors did not matter, not when he died knowing that those men and women idolised him and would wage wars in his name. One spoiled fruit rotted away the entire crop and now Paradis was ready to cosign its doom, picking on the weakened and the damned as if this island had not once been just the same.

“Thank you,” Armin mouths, his voice barely audible as he clears his throat and replaces his expression with a friendly smile.

“I guess the trains are different,” you blurt, looking for a way to steer the sinking ship that was this conversation, “I’ll never get used to them, they’re so loud and dark inside.”

“Glad to know our hard work is being appreciated.” 

You lift the corners of your lips to smile at him, “It is, the horses are very grateful to no longer be worked to the bone by merchants transporting goods from Maria to Sheena,” you say, nearly forgetting that there no longer was an interior or exterior to name, “Life here is still simple, Armin, there isn’t much to update you on.”

“Still-”

“We can’t all be heroes,” you jest, nudging his foot beneath the table, “So, tell me what is life like for you?”

Armin withdraws his hands from yours, “It’s all I talk about, I don’t want to talk about it with you,” he explains, swallowing thickly, “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.”

Rising from your seat you round the corner of the small table to press the palm of your hand between his shoulder blades. The gesture is meant to be comforting but you feel awkward, like you shouldn’t be touching him like this though your body craved the knowledge of what his skin would like against yours. The tips of your fingers graze the edge of his crisp collar, you hastily jerk back, eyes narrowing to inspect the fabric for any unwanted crinkles you may have caused.

“I’ve been such a bad host,” you mutter, “My mother would be so disappointed that I haven’t asked you if you’d like anything to drink.”

“Tea if you have any, please.”

You nod again, you still have some dried chamomile that Mrs.Bergmann gave to you when you confessed to her that you struggled to sleep some days. The tea didn’t help but it was the thought that counted. Goosebumps trailed up the length of your bare legs and you cursed yourself for not excusing yourself to dress before you sat down with Armin. The early spring air wouldn’t warm until the late afternoon most days. 

Armin’s gaze is heavy. He watches you flutter about your kitchen with keen intent. His eyes slither up your body in a methodical manner. You’re unsure if he’s leering the way men unabashedly do when they’re three pints in or if he’s searching for any indication that something might be amiss. You hope it’s the latter. It should be the latter, you didn’t feel uncomfortable and Armin wasn’t one to steal eyefuls of others.

“Do you still like it with milk and honey?” you ask, though you’ve already reached into the icebox in search of the milk you knew was in there. Hopefully, it hasn't yet spoiled.

You flinched when you rose to your full height. Armin had materialised behind you. The jug nearly drops from your hand but Armin is quick to wrap his fingers around the handle, overtop of your hand. He guides the jug to the counter and reaches an arm around you to take the teapot off the heat before it can release a shrill squeal. 

Pressing your hand to your chest, you murmur a breathless, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Armin chirps.

His eyes bore into yours, he’s inspecting you once more. Whatever he’s in search of, you’re certain he isn’t going to find it. The girl that he once knew was not the same woman that stood before him, nor was he the same boy even if his eyes twinkled just the same. That was growing up. Your stomach grumbled, licking its chops as the wanting returned. Your eyes trickled down Armin’s face until they settled on his cupid's bow. His lips were full and a dusted pink colour. They were nice, you remember wondering what they’d feel like against yours if it’d hurt to kiss him after he’d bitten his lips raw with stress. 

The sharp edge of the counter digs into the plush flesh of your hips as you press your body against it. Hunger is as frightening as it is all consuming. You are hungry. Are you hungry for him? You’ve craved and yearned for places and their people, but never their bodies. The one time you allowed a man in your bed it’d been out of curiosity and some twisted need to feel something, anything other than the dull twinge of melancholy that sprouted from the roots it planted in your heart. 

Armin placed his hand on your chest where your heart was. The heat of his palm melted through the thin fabric of your nightgown, causing you to instinctively shiver, “Your heart is racing,” he comments, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, “I didn’t startle you, did I?”

“No.”

“How is Annie?” You nervously ask, searching for a way to stifle the deluded desire that coursed through your veins, “Last I heard from Hitch, she had been freed from her crystal and joined you. That must have been exciting, being able to speak to her after so many years.”

His face crinkles up into a confused expression, “Annie is fine, they’re all fine. Connie and Jean are excited to see their mothers,” he replies slightly, cocking his head to the side, “Why do you ask?”

You shrug your shoulders. Armin doesn’t remove his hand. Your heart skips a beat, you’re sure he feels it. 

“Was just curious I guess, since I heard you had feelings for her.”

“Annie and I are friends, nothing more,” his nose crinkles, he seems to want to ask where you hear such a ludicrous rumour but doesn’t. When he wasn’t with the scouts, he was with her crystal, talking as if one day she might answer back.

“Oh.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Armin counters, his long pale lashes fluttering against his cheek as he blinks, “You’ve always been … quite the catch.”

His voice trails off, he regrets his wording. He didn’t want to liken you to fish or cattle but of all the vast information stored in his brain, there seemed to be nothing on complimenting women. Not that he’s done much of that in his lifetime. There’s never been a need to. Armin wants to compliment you, to tell you how he really feels but it gets clogged in his throat as he struggles to get a read on you.

Shaking your head, you avert your gaze.

It’s not for a lack of trying or wanting. None of the relationships you pursued ever felt right. Their hands didn’t fit within yours the way they were supposed to. Your body was hallowed out in the middle but they couldn’t fill you up. It wasn’t their fault. You’d accept that you were broken, someone who simply wasn’t meant to be loved. It was easy. Until now, when the one person your heart still clung to stood here and dangled himself like a carrot.

“Good, you’re too good for anyone on this island,” his proclamation makes your skin itch. Even if what he said were true, you would have to settle for someone on this island eventually, lest you spend the rest of your life as alone as you are now, “You deserve someone who’s good enough for you.”

You nearly laugh, though he makes this statement with such earnestness that you’re almost inclined to believe him. Almost.

“Who then?”

Looking into his eyes made your lungs ache. There was nowhere to escape with how he pinned you in place with his gaze.

“Who’s good enough for me?” You ask, your nails digging into the wood counter as you curl your fists around the lip of it, “You?”

Armin rolls his eyes and the sight alone shocks you, “No, I could never be good enough for you,” a laugh springs forth, crackling past your lips before you’re able to stop it, “Is something funny?”

His cheeks turn red with embarrassment but there's nowhere for him to hide either.

“No … Yes, actually,” you sigh, expelling all the air from your lungs as you muster up the resolve to be truthful, “I have loved for as long as I can remember and I have wanted you even before I even knew what love truly was.”

Your fingers coil around his wrist, intent on wrenching his hand away from your chest but the look in his eyes stops you. Sadness and self-loathing meet in the bright blue pools of his irises. You were born six months before he was but he’s always seemed years ahead of you. There was a certain kind of wisdom that surrounded him, you weren’t sure why. Now though, whatever maturity that shrouded Armin vanished and all that lay beneath was a newborn fawn that teetered on legs far too long for him.

Your nails dig into the cuff of his jacket, crinkling the pristine fabric, “There is not a day that goes by where I haven’t thought of you.”

“I’m no good for you either,” he says with a wet laugh. His eyes shone with welled up tears that had no business blurring his gaze.

“Because you’ve killed people?” You ask, your brows furrowing as you frown, “There are many people who have done worse for less. At least you had a reason.”

“I could never be the man that you need me to be.”

“Not even for an afternoon?” You had always known his future held more than your own, even before he became humanity's saviour. He’d make his peace with Paradis and leave, maybe he’d come back years from now, or maybe he’d plant his roots elsewhere.

His hand trembles as he shakes his head, “No.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, he releases a shaky exhale. You bite back the urge to ask him once more why he was here. You were never that close as children, you were close in a way that all of Shiganshina was but never anything more than, at least nothing that would have meant this unannounced visit was appropriate.

“Why?”

“You should live a quiet life,” Armin whispers, his lips nearly grazing yours as they move to form each syllable, “A happy life, after all you’ve been through, you deserve it.”

Your eyes flutter shut, “And you don’t?” It’s a stupid question, really, if he believed he did this conversation wouldn’t be happening, “You’ve been through far more than I, you’ve lost so much more.”

“I have even more to atone for.”

His bottom lip quivers as he presses the weight of his body into you. He’s heavier than you could have imagined, and his body is harder too. Somewhere between now and then his lithe frame melded into lean muscle and it serves as another reminder of how much time has passed, how little you two knew of each other now. Trailing your fingertips over his shoulder, you slide your arm around him, pulling him into an embrace. Armin shudders in your hold, a meek whimper slipping past his lips as he crushes his body into yours. Your nails press into the sliver of skin that peeks over the lip of his collar. 

It's the nape of his neck.

When titans were simply the monsters that hid beneath your bed and plagued your dreams, it was common knowledge that the way to snuff them out was through the nape. It felt oddly vulnerable for your hand to roam over the smooth expanse of skin, though even as a titan shifter it was no weak spot, it may well have been with the way his body shook in your arms.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to live or to love,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “You get to love now, you get to be loved. Armin, you’re allowed to have things and to want things even after all that has happened.”

Armin sniffles, pressing his nose in your hair. The scent of the lavender soap you’ve used for as long as you could remember still clings to your hair. You wonder if he remembers if that is why he burrows his face deeper until the tip of his nose and his lips brush against the skin of your neck. 

Wanting was hard.

So little felt tangible and on the off chance it was, it remained just out of reach. Like a tease, that brushed your fingertips as you outstretched your arm before pulling away or a glimpse of the sun before an array of clouds moved in from across the sky. You couldn’t remember the last time you wanted something. Whatever it was you felt for Armin simmered lowly on a back burner until now, longing did not serve survival. Still, you wanted him but not in the way magpies coveted shiny trinkets but in the way the stars longed for the moon. It was a constant, all consuming yearning that made your stomach twist inward at the strange sensation.

“I don’t even …” Armin trails off, his voice wet with emotion, “I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to desire something.”

Leaning back, Armin allows enough space for him to look at your face. His cheeks are pink, blotchy, and shiny with half dried tears that pooled atop the apples of his cheeks. Cupping your face with the palm of your hand, he smiles sadly at you.

“But, all I have wanted for years was to know what it is like to kiss you.”

Your body burns, not with embarrassment but something else.

“Is that all?” You ask.

The corners of Armin’s mouth twitch upward, “Maybe not but I let go of those dreams long ago.”

“You kept this one, why?”

“Wishful thinking, maybe or … ?” Armin says, scrunching his brows together as he trails off, “You’ve always been here, you’ve been a constant in this ever changing world so I suppose I hoped there’d be a day where I could …”

“Kiss me?”

Armin bashfully nods, biting his lip a bit.

The shiny metal kettle of water grows cold in the length of time you and Armin spend silently staring at each other. He assesses you, slowly, looking for any signs that your affection for him remained buried in the past. You spoke in the past tense, and your words were too easily misconstrued. Your hands slip to cup the underside of his jaw. All this waiting, all this thinking was maddening when you knew exactly what you wanted. His face replaced those of all the men you kissed, his body manifested in the throngs of taverns like an apparition to taunt you. You wanted to kiss him more than you wanted anything else in this world.

His skin was warm to the touch, you’re sure yours is too. You feel warm like you’ve been dipped in melted candle wax. A bit of stubble tickles the palm of your hands and it makes you giggle. His hair is so fair, you didn’t even notice. Armin’s shoulders tense as you lean in, insecurity claws at your throat but you’ve already taken the leap. You were too far gone now to change your mind. Gently grazing your lips across his, you give Armin a chance to back away but he only leans in closer, his calloused thumbs bite into the soft edge of your jawline as he instinctively squeezes you.

Armin’s lips are slightly chapped and scabbed over in a way that tells you he still nervously chews them when he’s worried. He’s inexperienced, that you were expecting, not that you were particularly tactful with how you clumsily melded your mouth against his. Though, he didn’t seem to mind as he eagerly attempted to mimic each movement. The thread of want that coiled around your stomach roared, begging for your attention as pulled away.

The small noise of disappointment that gathers in the back of Armin’s throat does not fall deaf upon your ears. But, you feel ravenous. If you didn’t slither away now, you’d consume him, bones and all, before he’d even had the chance to register that you sunk your teeth into his sternum. You feel ravenous. It makes your skin itch. Your fingers twitched, they desperately wished to burrow themselves into his flesh to feel how his heart thrummed for you.

Through lidded eyes, Armin peers at you, “Just like I thought,” he says, his cheeks somehow deepening in colour.

“What do you mean?”

“One kiss and I’m gone,” he explains but that doesn’t smooth the confused furrow from between your brows, “I want more, I don’t know how I’m meant to live on knowing what it’s like to kiss and never being able to again.”

Your nose scrunches as you frown, “Say who?”

“Pardon?”

“Who said that I’d never kiss you again?” You ask, smoothing your thumb along the length of his stubbly jaw, “Because, I never said that.”

“I just thought-”

Looping your arms around his neck you sigh, “Stop thinking so much,” you whine, allowing yourself to relish in the knowledge that he too wanted more, “Sometimes things are far simpler than you make them out to be.”

Armin bashfully dips his chin for a moment, his heat filled gaze cast away which offers you some reprieve. Only for a short moment, though. He faces you once more in an instant. You can see it swimming in the pools of his irises, the want, the hunger. It’s something you never imagined to be reflected back to you, least of all from Armin. It thrills you all the same, your skin prickling with electricity that crackles to life when he reaches for your hips.

It’s gentlemanly, how he rests his hands respectively over your body with a feather light touch that may flee should you move too quickly. You want more though, you wish he’d take claim to you the way you the way your cunt ached for.

“Are they?”

You nod, fearing your voice would somehow betray you.

He too nods, far more thoughtful than you were, “You know, I loved you too, never had any doubts of what it was,” he muses, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows, “It never faded either even when I lost and confused about what came next.”

His admission makes you bristle, your ears perking up in search of any misspoken syllables that may have deluded you. There were none. There was no mistaking what Armin had confessed. It doesn’t feel real. You’d pinch yourself if Armin’s watchful gaze was pointed anywhere but you. That alone was proof enough that this was very real, Armin just confessed his love for you.

“And you?” Armin asks.

“Huh?”

Your heart pounds, screaming over the sound of Armin’s voice. You suck in a shaky breath and will your heart to calm down. In all your years of wanting, of yearning, you never imagined what it would be like to have your feelings reciprocated. You assumed neither of you would live long enough for anything to come to fruition. But you could hope now, right?

“Did your feelings for me ever fade?”

“No … no, never,” admitting out loud that you pined after a boy for nearly two decades would have made you feel pathetic if it wasn’t Armin who pulled the truth from where it coiled around your ribs,  “Even if I wanted them too, they never would. You’re it for me, you’re the only person I was made to love.”

You didn’t fancy yourself a dreamer. At least, not after everything was said and done. There wasn’t much to dream up, but if you were to dream or indulge you’d tell him that there could never be anyone else because your souls were tied together. It was a terribly selfish thought but it was true enough that you felt inexplicably tied to Armin. Even if this day passed and you never saw him again, your heart would remain his until you both returned to earth.

Armin kisses you before you’re able to backpedal on any of your words, almost shyly, but still eager enough that his need rolls off his body in waves and crashes into you. His nails press through the thin material of your nightgown to nip at your hips. You’re reminded of just how strong he has become in all your years apart when you feel his muscles ripple through his forearms.

“Armin,” you sharply whisper between the desperate press of his mouth to yours, “I want you.”

It’s an unfinished thought. There are too many words that could come next and not enough actions to convey what it is you want. Threading your fingers through carefully styled hair, you tug at the strands. Armin keens into your mouth, one of his hands shooting out to grasp the edge of the counter you were pressed against. Having braced himself, he’s careful not to put too much of his weight onto you as his body melts into yours. 

“I’m right here,” he says, with a slight laugh.

Resting your forehead against his, you sigh, “I want you,” you repeat, untangling your fingers from his hair to fiddle with the top button of his shirt. You flick it open, slowly testing the waters. There’s a sparse patch of flaxen hair that leads your gaze past his collarbones, “I want to be close to you, close with you…” 

Your whisper, wanton words did little to clarify what you meant, Armin’s confused stare was fixed on your swollen, kiss bitten lips. Popping open another button, you glare at his tie. It constricts the fabric of his shirt from spilling open any further. Pulling the tongue of the tie out from where it’s neatly tucked in his waistband, you tug on it until you’re nose to nose. You swallow thickly, your gaze trailing down the expanse of his neck. The muscles strained beneath the skin as he nervously clenched his jaw.

“Oh … Oh.”

The red in his cheeks deepened. He looked a bit like a tomato but it was rather endearing.

“...Yeah?”

He nods a bit too quickly, “Yeah,” he agrees, biting his bottom lip, “I want this, I want this with you.”

Tentatively, Armin rests his hands on your shoulder and thumbs at the worn wool of your well loved cardigan. The fabric is slowly peeling away from your body, slipping down your biceps to pool in the crook of your elbows. Your heart flutters, it’s a strange sensation and for a moment you wonder if it’s healthy. It can’t be, not with how your stomach lurches alongside your heart. Unfurling your fists from his tie, you straighten your arms and allow your cardigan to unceremoniously fall to the floor.

“Are you sure?” You ask, your fingers skimming the delicate neckline of your nightgown. You weren’t yet so overcome with lust that you forgot yourself or Armin’s apparent lack of experience.

His hands replace yours, “Yes,” his skin is clammy but so is yours, the sheen of nervous sweat that gathers along your jugular feels disgusting when laid overtop of goosebumps but you can’t will either away, “You’re special to me … there isn’t anyone else I would want to do this with.”

“You’re not just saying this because you want to die with no regrets?”

You cringe at the crippling edge of insecurity that creeps over you, mentally slapping your hand in shame. Bad! You silently scold. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. In spite of all that happened, the future was never promised, you both knew that much. There was no shame in wanting to taste all life had to offer just in case. It was human nature.

“I’m going to live a very long life,” Armin says with a confident smile. Such sureness would usually make you roll your eyes in annoyance but Armin doesn’t say it to be boastful– even if he had, he’d have earned it– he says it matter of fact, he will live a long life in spite of everything, “And so are you, there’s no need to think in half measures filled with worries because we’re going to live long beautiful lives filled with everything we could ever want.”

It’s a pretty picture he paints but you can’t help but whisper, “We are?”

Smoothing his calloused thumbs along the column of your throat, Armin exhales, “Yes, we are,” you almost believe him, his optimism was just that convincing, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Armin tugs on the loop that keeps your nightgown tied closed, not minding that the two of you still stand in your kitchenette and it’s his first time. He gently guides the thin cotton fabric open to expose your chest but doesn’t move to pull the cloth from your body. In turn, you push his jacket off his shoulders and toss it to the floor with your cardigan. He unbuttons his shirt, letting it fall open to reveal his lithe abdomen. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, walking backwards at your behest, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

His brows shoot into his hairline when he bumps into the edge of your table, “I never pegged you to be such a flatterer, Mister Arlert,” you tease, pushing his chest until he takes the hint to hop onto the tabletop, “You tell all the girls that?”

It’s easy to wear a smile and play the part of a bashful lovestruck young lady. It’s only half a performance. There were parts of you that have long since been buried amongst the past lives you lived. They seemed to come back to you with each puff of breath that passed your lips. You slip in and out of you were and you could become. It’s frightening and thrilling. You like the rush you get when he smiles back at you. It’s megawatt bright and wide enough to take up most of his face. You wonder if he feels it too, the pieces that come together like a puzzle. He must, that’s why he smiles and allows himself to indulge in the perilous depths of wanting that lap at your bellies.

“No,” he playfully rolls his eyes, his fingers splaying out as he presses his palms flat against the table, “Only you. It’s only ever been you.”

Your stomach somersaults, you could get used to the feeling, the flirting, being desired earnestly. 

You’ve been desired before but those men didn’t desire you, but rather the idea of you, your house, even your cunt, but never really you. They never filled you with empty promises, their intentions quite clear from the first shared mug of ale. It never bothered you before but now it does. You wish you didn’t fall for their promise of something good when the real thing was so much better now that you had it in your grasp.

The tip of his shoe just barely grazes the floor as he swings his leg back and forth, stepping into the space between his spread legs, you graze your fingertip along the length of his thigh. The metal of his belt glints in the warm morning light. You should probably bring him upstairs, to your bedroom. You worry if you do, you’ll lose the nerves that have steeled over to service the aching monster in your belly. Tomorrow he might think you crass, perhaps he would even sooner when the haze of desire faded and he was left with the weight of his indulgence.

“May I? 

“Yes, please,” Armin breathes, shuddering a bit when you place your hand on the buckle.

His hips twitch upward, seeking the warm touch of your hand. Daring to cast your gaze downward, you rake your eyes over his growing bulge. His belt clinks open and you suck in a nervous breath. You’re about to ask if you can unbutton his dress pants when he whispers another small plea, his breath heavy.

A few strands of hair slip over the edge of your shoulder, Armin tucks them behind your ear with a pleased smile. His cock springs forth when you pull the waistband of his underwear downward. The wispy trail of hair that disappears beneath his shirt is a shade darker, but just as fine as the hair on his head. Your mouth waters at the sight of his rosy tip, precum oozes when you gently squeeze the base of his cock. Slowly pumping your hand up and down his length, you glance at Armin.

His bottom lip is squished between his teeth, hiding the sweet little sounds that travel up his throat. You strain your ears to listen, your eyes boring into his. He blinks but holds your gaze. He frees his bottom lip and allows his jaw to hang open when he realises that you’re listening to his sounds. Armin doesn’t have to be quiet, he can loudly indulge in his pleasures so he does. Softly moaning your name with a goofy, lovestruck expression on his face even as he jerks his hips up to match your rhythm. 

“Does that feel good?” you ask, internally cringing as you wrack your brain for something to say. You wonder if you should stay silent, but words may be more comforting. 

Armin’s head bobs as he nods a bit too quickly, “Yes,” he moans as he digs his nails into the splintered wood of your table.

He uses his other hand to curl his fingers around your wrist, the one that wasn’t languidly working his cock. Armin squeezes your wrist too roughly like he forgets himself and his own strength, your brows crinkle in pain but it’s easily masked as a look of concentration. You don’t mind though, the pain reminds you that you’re alive, that this was real and not just the machinations of an overactive imagination. Armin shudders when you use your thumb to spread some of the precum gathered along the head of his cock down the shaft, allowing your hand to slide more smoothly.

Your name is  sweet on his tongue, the syllables roll off it in a way that makes you think it belongs there. Like Armin was meant to say your name like this for the rest of eternity. 

“I want to touch you too,” he pants, between wanton whimpers. The smooth silver of skin that he clings to isn’t enough, “I want you to feel good too.”

It’s difficult to say no to Armin when he asks so sweetly, “Okay,” you say, bringing your linked hands up to your mouth to press a kiss to the back of his hand, “Lay back for me, okay?”

Armin does as you ask without question like a dutiful dog obeys its owner. You hitch your legs over the edge of the table and settle atop of his thighs. Hiking the hem of your nightgown upward, you guide Armin’s hand between your legs to where your bare, wet pussy clenches in anticipation. Your cunt aches with need and your chest squeezes at the slight brush of his calloused fingers across your folds.

“Touch me here.”

“Like this?” he asks, curling his fingers to rub against your throbbing clit, a shiver rolls through your spine.

Cupping your hand over his, you encourage him to make a few small circles, “Mhm, just like that,” you shudder, your breath halting when the table creaks beneath your shared weight, “It feels good, Armin.”

Seeming satisfied with himself and the way his name melted past your lips, he replicates your movement. You feel feverish with need as the urge to burrow yourself within his sternum consumes you. It melds with the pinpricks of pleasure that dance inside your belly as your muscles tense. It’s a terrible fate– to be ensnared by Armin Arlert. You don’t believe his promises, no matter how saccharine. It’s devilish for him to touch you, you’ve decided. Like with your kisses, how were you meant to go on without Armin ever touching you like this again? But, you’ve learned to manage your expectations. Dreams were called dreams because they were never meant to be anything more than something to wish on as a child. Even if he did still love you, there was too much distance between what became of your life and what became of his. 

Pleasure burns your belly. It singes your insecurities but doesn’t snuff them out in their entirety. It’s just enough to chase them away and leave nothing but bliss in their wake. Your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Your chest heaves with haggard breaths, and your nightgown slips open to reveal the supple skin of your chest and your breasts to Armin. His gaze is respectful as he drinks in the sight. He moans to himself and marvels, it’s quite endearing. You like it, you don’t feel dirty or ashamed for your wanton ways, how could you when Armin drinks you in like you’re a perfectly crafted mountainside that has been crafted just for his admiration?

“Armin,” you sigh, “I need you inside of me.”

Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you slide the head between your dripping folds. Armin’s body wracks and his shoulders shake as he quivers with need. He moans your name once more, and you commit the sound to memory, for those cold and lonely nights that never seem to end. Your shoulders tense when you press the tip to your hole. It’s been a while, the stretch burns a bit. But, it’s nice. Your eyes roll back into your head and you curse under your breath. 

Armin slopes his hand around the nape of your neck, “Can I kiss you?” he all but moans, “I want to kiss you again.”

His rosy cheeks grow round when he offers you a bashful smile. You kiss him, your tongue and teeth clicking against one another as you sloppily move your mouth alongside his. You’ve never been much of a multitasker. It’s hard to focus on much else aside from the mind numbing pleasure that distracts you. He hasn’t stopped rolling your clit between his fingers and as he swallows up your moans with desperate, fevered kisses, you wonder if he’s enjoying how much of a mess he’s made of you. 

Your heart throbs in a funny sort of manner when you sink all the way down the length of his cock. The feeling of fullness spreads to the tips of your fingers all the way down to your toes. You hate how complete you feel, the fact that a small part of you wishes you could bottle the utter feeling of contentedness that warms you. The hunger and longing that lives inside of you never felt satiated, not once in the decade since it burrowed behind your lungs. Now though, they purr happily like a fat cat who’s had its fair share of the cream.

The taste of salt dabbles on your tongue, “Why are you crying?” Armin asks, his voice laced with concern, “Is something wrong, does it hurt?”

Swiping your fingers across the top of your cheekbones you confirm that those are your tears and not his. They spill past your lash line and there is nothing you can do to stop them. You don’t feel sad, even with the mess in your head you know that much. You sputter for a moment, desperately searching his face for an answer but nothing comes.

“I’m just so happy,” you say though you’re unsure where those words come from but they flow freely before you can stop them just like your tears, “I like being this close to you, I want to stay this close to you.”

Forever.

That’s the word that should complete your sentence. You keep it clutched to your chest where it’ll remain safe so long as you’re vigilant.

You knock your hips forward to silence whatever endeared sentiment Armin is about to form. His brows press together in concentration. He’s nearing his end, you can feel it in the way he throbs inside of you. Your tears are gently wiped by rough hands, you hardly register them. It’s difficult to focus on much as he plays with your clit and dutifully matches each flick of your hips. He’s a quick learner, he always has been. You wonder if he’s storing your reactions and sounds for later so that if there was a next time, he’d do exactly what you’d like without instruction. The end nears for you too, it lingers amongst the obnoxious groans from your table as you rock your hips. The sounds of skin bare slapping marry your shared, debauched whines. They’ll haunt your walls tomorrow and the next. 

They haunt you right now.

You didn’t think you were capable of feeling so serene, but you do. You’re untouchable as you chase your release. It lays in the palm of Armin’s hands. You’ll eat straight from them if you have to. The coil in your stomach tightens for a moment and your breathing becomes staggered. Armin is no better, he sputters small half breaths between needy whines of your name. His forehead rests on your shoulder, and his sweat dabbled hair sticks to you. Strands of your hair cling to the nape of your neck too. The cool breeze that slithers across your house makes your heated skin break out with goosebumps. It doesn’t bother you though, nothing could bother you now.

“I love you,” Armin whispers into your skin as he cums, holding your body close to his.

A few more tears well up as your orgasm washes through you. Your thighs shake and you struggle to bring your arms around his torso. His tight embrace makes up for it as they lay limply by your side. Your flush skin is peppered with affectionate kisses and his nose is nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You feel loved, you haven’t felt it in a while but it felt similar to this. The earnest way he embraces you without a second thought is imbued with love. Lifting your tired arms, you curl them around his body. Your nails dig into the hardened flesh of his back. They leave a few crescent moons to join the myriad of battle scars and freckles that have returned to him.

‘“I love you too.”

You wish you could say it was true for the moment but it’s not. It was true because you did love him, you loved him in a way you weren’t sure you were capable of loving anyone else. If Ymir the Founder had left her people with anyone before erasing herself and her titan kin from existence, you think it might have been eternal love. The kind that wasn’t possible of fading, even when you didn’t understand why.

Hours pass and you find yourself in your bed once more, on the edge of waking and sleep you register the lack of sunlight. You don’t remember exactly how you made your way upstairs but you do remember two strong arms holding you close as you allowed slumber to cradle your tired mind in its embrace. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your blanket is tucked snugly beneath your chin.

There’s a letter on your bedside table and a glass of water. You make out the letters of your name and the promise of return but you choose not to read any further. Laying in silence you wonder if she’s still out there, your creator, the founder. If she was, you hoped she would listen to your pleas. You were strong, but you weren’t strong enough to spend the rest of your life waiting on a lost life whose remains had long since returned to the dirt and earth.

You prayed that the Jägerist’s stupidity would fall deaf to Queen Historia’s ears and that when you awoke next, there’d still be a head of blond hair next to you with long pretty eyelashes and rosy cheeks that told all his secrets. 

He was too far entangled in your rib cage. You were far too comfortably curled around his aorta. Armin may be able to withstand it but you weren’t. After all this time, you really hoped you could be happy. Even with all the strangeness that came from estrangement, you felt more alive with Armin than you had in all the years of living in Shiganshina. It was a shell of its former self, with the ghosts of yesterday's past filling all the nooks and crannies. You too easily allowed yourself to become one of them, the ghosts but you didn’t half to be a ghost, you could want things just the same as Armin could.

And you wanted him to come back to you so the two of you could experience that future he was talking about.

Mr. Arlert did not raise a liar or a man who’d break promises. Your chances were good. You could be happy. All the lost parts of you could return and maybe you’d feel whole again, and maybe you’d welcome the warmth of the sun on your skin the same way you welcomed Armin back into your life. 

You deserved some ounce of happiness too. 

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