#GREY HAIR IN HIS BEARD AND GREY HAIR IN HIS HAIR OH HE'S BECOMING A SILVER FOXXXXXX

[blamemma]

daniel ricciardo speaking to the media ahead of the race weekend | 📍silverstone race circuit, british grand prix, media day | 📸 lfp

[sexlapis]

# SALT AND PEPPER (but mostly salt)

ᝰ.ᐟ nanami x gn!reader

mini fic, fluff, suggestive, aging, reader and nanami are married, reader is a silver fox!

⤷ nanami was prepared for a lot of things when it came to getting older. what he wasn’t prepared for, was how hot his spouse would get…

a/n: thinking about how much i love grey/white/silver hair on a woman or man……..sorry….

masterlists

*

with growing up, getting old and becoming more seasoned, there came many life changes.

health scares, career adjustments, new found gratitude for the most simplest of things and for some reason, a sudden influx of more bills when you get a raise…and you are always due for an eye appointment.

but one thing that has changed is…you.

more specifically, how sexier you’ve become.

now, don’t nanami wrong, he has always found you sexy, beautiful, cute, attractive, pretty, all of the words underneath the sun.

a few years earlier is when he realised it.

the new, grey hairs peaking at your temples.

they were thin and hardly noticeable to an outsider. but nanami noticed everything about you.

he mentioned it one morning.

“do you know your greys are coming in?”

“ugh, i know.” you touch you temples, feeling where they are, like grey hairs felt different somehow. “you can’t really see them now, but i’ll have to dye them in, like, four years or something.”

“…or you could just…let them grow out…?”

you snort. “yeah, right. why don’t i bleach my eyebrows next?”

you leave it at that, and so does nanami and the discussion of your hair is put to an end.

until a few years later.

as of now, the hair of your head is a light grey colour, with slivers of silver and white that beamed, especially highlighted when you are underneath the sun.

your face has changed too.

crows feet now wrinkled the corners of your eyes, smile lines framed your lips, the dips of your jowls now replaced your streamlined jaw and darker, freckled spots were sprinkled over your cheeks and nose.

and, my gosh, did it drive nanami crazy.

the way the experience of life now appeared on your face, you body, your hands and your hair made him more attracted to you. more than he even thought he could be.

and that says a lot.

“your hair.” he starts. you both sit at the breakfast table, a newspaper in nanami’s hand and a cup in yours. “your hair is nice.”

“really?” you ask, surprised and slightly incredulous. you reach your hand up and ruffle your hair. “you know, i was thinking of dyeing it back-“”

“don’t dye it…please. never dye it.”

“oh? nanami…” you smirk at him. “do you think i’m a … fox?”

“you’re the sexiest fox i’ve ever seen, sweetheart.”

“it sounds kinda weird when you say it like that, but i’ll take it!”

nanami chuckles and shakes his head. he stares at you for a moment before speaking. “come here.” he pats his lap.

you place your cup down, strolling to where he sits and plopping yourself onto his lap.

his hands wrap around your hips and yours his neck.

“you’re growing up so wonderfully, baby.” he kisses your jaw. “being old suits you.”

you giggle. “you too, kenny.”

you don’t think he believes you based on the shake of his head, but you know that you’re correct and that’s all that matters.

after a few minutes of peaceful silence, you decide to break it.

“…so,” you sigh, resting you cheek on nanami’s shoulder, “you know how you like my new sexy silver fox hair?”

“yes?” nanami responds, grinning.

“how about we grow you a beard, nanami kento?”

“…”

a/n: short n sweet <3

[knight-of-flowerss]

cregan stark headcannons for crushing or a blurb pls ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hii!! I sadly haven’t watched season 2 yet so these are js going off fanon and stuff 😭

Also I’m sorry if this isn’t the best I haven’t wrote properly in a good few months 😭

HOTD Masterlist

CREGAN STARK HEAD CANONS || SFW ||

🃃 Cregan Stark is a stoic man. A Stark man. A full beard at such a young age (ik that in the show he don’t have a beard or summin but these are my head canons and he’s a Stark so-).

🃟 He’s the Winterfell darling basically. It was a running ‘joke’ that every girl wants him and every man wants to be him. And it was 100% true.

🃃 And this is how you ended up here. Staring at the young lord with adoration infecting your eyes.

🃟 Your young heart couldn’t contain the crush that had bubbled over. You had known of this man barely a few months and thanks to your brother, you saw him pretty much everyday.

🃃 Preparing for war wasn’t easy for anyone. But with Cregan’s dashing smile reassuring your family during this crisis, how could you not swoon?

🃟 His eyes, his hair, his beard, his smile. Everything about this man was perfect, you melted whenever you saw him.

🃃 Every time your mother was called into a meeting with Cregan, your brother and your step-father, you jumped at the opportunity to accompany her, claiming that “We’re family mother, we should stick by eachother.”.

🃟 Yes you just lied to your dear mother to get closer to your little crush, do you give a fuck? Fuck no. I mean have y’all seen the Starks? They’re literal sex gods.

🃃 In these meetings, you sat down near the vast table they often bickered at over battle tactics while you started in awe at them all, admiration of your mother, respect for your brother, intimidation of your step-father and desire for Cregan.

🃟 While sat in these meetings you’ll take sneaky glances over at Cregan and for a while, he didn’t even glance your way, give you a passing thought. But after a while you noticed his eyes… lingering.

🃃 One day you were walking around Dragonstone with Joffrey, admiring the sheer beauty of your home when all of a sudden, long dark locks catch your attention.

🃟 At first glance you thought it was Jace, he grew his hair out and really started to become your father more and more with each passing day.

🃃 You look down and see expensive furs trailing the floor as the cape the figure was wearing sweeped up any un-seen muck from the ground.

🃟 You trailed your eyes up and met with frosty-grey eyes peering back at you.

🃃 A sly smirk adorns his rough face, his eyes burning holes into yours.

🃟 Your cheeks flush as your lips part, plump and soft, your front teeth peeking through.

🃃 His large frame stalks towards you, boots beating on the stone floors, striding with a cunty confidence.

🃟 The seven had surely blessed this man. He was sent from the Maiden herself.

🃃 A shadow casts over you, the sun immediately cowering from your soft features. Your doe eyes peer up, looking past your dark decorated hair to trail up to his face.

🃟 After a lengthy few seconds of sexually charged silence, Joffrey speaks up.

🃃 “When are we going to the library sister?”

🃟 You blinked out of your trance. Your head moving towards your baby brother while your eyes stay on Cregan’s, but eventually your eyes drift away from him and set upon your brother.

🃃 “Uh- oh yes uhm, we’ll go now brother.”, your head moves to Cregan, “It’s nice to see you again Lord Stark, I hope it won’t be the last time we all see each other on this visit of yours.”

🃟 Cregan nods, once curved lips, that formed a smirk, fall into a flat line as he agrees, “Of course your grace, I’ll see you both in the hall for the feast.”

🃃 The next time you see the rugged man, it’s the feast in the hall a few hours later.

🃟 You were sat with Joffrey on your left and your other little brother Viserys. Your baby brother had smacked his food out of the maids hands so you offered to feed him something while she cleaned the very large mess.

🃃 Your hand dips the spoon into the oats to lift a hefty amount onto the cutlery, heading towards your huffy brothers opened mouth, little did you know his hand would fly up and smack the spoon into your face.

🃟 A shocked gasp left your mouth as you stared at Viserys, his face lighting up and giggling, you couldn’t help the soft smile that graced your oat-y features.

🃃 You quickly got up and went to clean up before anyone noticed and you didn’t want the attention on you due to your appearance.

🃟 But as you hurried through the doors to clean up, eyes followed your body across the hall. Cregan’s mouth curved into a smile and a small chuckle left his lips.

🃃 But, when you came back you saw something that angered you, more than any amount of oats poured on you could.

🃟 A young woman, a daughter of some Lord that was supporting your mother, was throwing herself all over Cregan.

🃃 And he was enjoying it.

🃟 ‘I shouldn’t be jealous,

you aren’t even mine.’

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom

[melrosing]

Do you have any thoughts on Cersei and her relationship to her now forcibly cut hair? Do you think she will keep it short as a sort reclaimation and power move as was done in the show? Or do you think she will let it grow or at least want to let it grow long(er) again?

firstly i am excited for the possibilities. buzzcut cers. bob cers. i need to draw them.

secondly, I think if she has the time, she will try and grow it out to what it was before. Cersei tells herself when she's shaved, 'hair grows back' - it's how she keeps herself calm, and it's a promise of vengeance. she fully intends to reclaim her identity as Cersei of House Lannister.

i think hair is generally associated w identity in asoiaf. have joked about the number of times characters go bald but ofc it's quite a natural symbol of rebirth, reforging one's identity. it comes up with Dany (who is essentially born again as the mother of dragons), Arya (shaving her head is part of becoming 'no-one', cutting away her past - though ofc hair grows back), and Jaime.

Jaime's hair journey (lol) I think is meant to compare and contrast with Cersei's. their hair was once what made them so alike, and what made them Lannisters. and Jaime says himself that Cersei 'will hate' his changed appearance, that they don't look so alike anymore. presenting as pseudo identical was part of what tied them together in her mind - it was how she recognised herself in him.

so i think whilst Jaime shaves his head for purely practical reasons, it becomes a symbol of his emotional divorce from Cersei. she reacts to it with alarm in ASOS, and is disdainful of the greys creeping in amongst the gold, and the beard as well. but Jaime seems happy with the beard, and never seemed to cling to his long locks. Cersei is disturbed by his changing appearance, whereas Jaime just seems to be growing into himself as an individual apart from her.

it's really different for Cersei though. she doesn't shave her own head - it's shaved against her will, and obviously causes her significant distress. she needs to calm herself with thoughts of vengeance, and covers her baldness in the epilogue. Jaime doesn't seem to care much what he looks like, but Cersei is a woman and a queen, so losing her hair is significantly more loaded in its consequence.

Cers derived so much of her power from her beauty, and her hair was part of that. taking it away takes a part of her power, and her identity as a golden Lannister. Jaime doesn't have to rely on his name in quite the way Cersei does. people don't fuck with House Lannister, but a bald Cersei doesn't look particularly like a lioness.

and I think that some element of reforging oneself is present for Cersei in that she's going to reforge herself... worse. that's what i've always seen this as:

"If it please Your Grace, Ser Robert has taken a holy vow of silence," Qyburn said. "He has sworn that he will not speak until all of His Grace's enemies are dead and evil has been driven from the realm." Yes, thought Cersei Lannister. Oh, yes. [CERSEI II, ADWD]

Cersei realises upon completing her walk that she has already acquired the tools for revenge, and it's going to be bloodier than ever. so where Jaime's shaved head begins an arc where he reforges himself through self reflection and redemption, Cersei's begins one in which she doubles down on everything, indeed to her own doom. Jaime learns that he wants to do differently, Cersei learns the opposite. it's like, once that's all cut away, who are they really? turns out: very different people with very different views of the world, and the physical similarities they used to share, and took for their identical souls, was only a façade.

[slowcatsworld]

Oliver Aiku has a droopy eyelid.

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This is just a headcanon, but it makes so much sense for me. I’ll attach a pic at the end, but he pulls that face one too many times so I’m calling it.

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It’s always his left green eye too. Whenever he relaxes his face or is preoccupied with something, that eyelid of his gradually begins to lower into being half open. (Sometimes it makes me feel as though he got one identical eye from both parents, shape and color included.)

Oliver wasn’t aware of his droopy eye as it wasn’t entirely noticeable until his former junior high coach brought it to his attention.

“Now son, I don’t think it’s affecting your performance on the field. You’re still our best defender and have an innate talent for dropping advances from your opponents,�� His coach started off, “I just think it might be best to let your parents know in case this will become something of a problem later on.”

Pfft, it’s not like he was infected with a disease. Oliver did ask his mother about it, and she claimed she had always known about his little droopy eye tendencies. However, it never caused harm so what was the reason to point it out? Oliver then brought it up to his friends the next time he saw them. They looked at his face and all shared a moment of silence.

“Oh, your eyes are opening at different heights. Adds to your aura I guess.” On of them said simply. And that was that.

You, his current fling (though he told you yall were serious, don’t believe this hoe of a man) a few years later, however, find his eyes captivating. Always one to compliment on their different colors, Oliver noticed how much you adored his droopy eye too.

It did lead to some cute moments though.

Like that one time he was watching a play back of his latest soccer game on his phone when you came waltzing through the door to his room. Oliver mumbled out a small, “hey, baby.” In acknowledgement. His eyes never left the screen. You sat down in front of him and took in his features, noting his eyes.

“Your eyes make it seem as though you’re tired, but the rest of your face looks as intense as ever.” You chuckle. Oliver snapped up to look at you, confusion doting his features. Ah, the eye, he assumed.

A slanted smirk that matched his scraggly beard made itself known before he spoke, “You make it seem as though you’re not my favorite thing to look at.” You roll your eyes before advancing upon his lap to give him a soft kiss.

Your favorite memory of his face though, and the primary reason why you like his eyes so much, is because it adds so much character to his face at the wrong time.

It was a semi-formal ceremony for Japan’s U-20 team before the start of the season. Oliver stood a little ways away from you, his personal invite, calmly surveying the team. Before you could make your way over to be by his side once more, a commotion broke out on the other side of the room.

Sendou voice could be heard along with the shriek of a lady. Squinting, you could see a young woman-probably some upstarting model-wearing a gorgeous grey dress with a splash of purple running from her chest to her lower abdomen. Sendou was cowering beside her, with one hand in his hair and the other holding an empty cup.

Oh. Just as the realization of what had occurred hit you, the damsel strutted through the exit with great fervor . Sendou stood frozen as though he was bit by a poisonous snake. You grimaced at the sight. You turn to your right, and a pair of blue and green eyes meet your gaze. You take a moment, then start chuckling. A chuckle turns into a laugh, and you have to hide your mouth behind your hands while Oliver makes his way over to you.

“Might I ask what’s so funny lil miss? Poor Sendou over there just ruined the mood, that chick’s dress, and his shot at getting laid tonight.” Oliver inquired with faux malice lining his voice, a playful grinning coming on.

“Your face.” You huff out. He blinks at you. Huh? He looks the same as when you first turned to him. A look of confusion and boyish charm is all that stands before you. Totally did not match the vibe, well at least before Sendou ruined it.

Seriously who wouldn’t find this cute face a little silly

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7.29.24

My unloyal hubby smh

[newchangestf]

The gay couple next door are lovely, both grey bearded leather men. I can’t help wonder if they’d be happier as a daddy and a slave boy though…

Two leather daddies? That doesn't seem right. You know what they say, two daddies don't make a... Whatever you get my point.

Let's fix this then shall we? Which one will become the slave boy? We'll go with Dan I think. We'll get rid of that grey hair firstly and return it to a youthful black. We'll also get rid of any body hair, he won't be needing that.

Then bring his age down a bit to what? 23? That seems reasonable. Dan seems wrong for him, let's make him a Danny.

He won't need all those braincells where he's going. Let's get rid of them and replace them with some fat for his ass. Perfect for bouncing on his daddy's lap.

Speaking of, let's fix Richard. To be honest, he won't need much work. Maybe we'll bring his age down a bit and get rid of the grey hairs...well some. 42 feels right to me.

We'll make him more dominant too, but caring for his new boy toy.

Pack on some muscle, rugged from years of working out.

Oh wow, they've really taken to each other haven't they?

[anjelicawrites]

Pierced Through

Paring: modern!Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Synopsis: a late night between two lovers

Warnings: switch!Feyd, switch!reader, more dominant reader, kissing, oral (m and f receiving), p in v sex, kissing, biting, scratching, overstimulation, edging, fingering, titty pinching, titty sucking, sharing the same piercings as a form of love, getting pierced as a form of foreplay, loads of piercings, reader being called “good girl” a couple of times.

A/N 1: reader is AFAB, the only descriptor is that they have long hair, for plot reasons. Where needed, they/them pronouns used. 

A/N 2: this is a modern AU with random bits of our pop culture thrown in it. 

Squinting your eyes you start to remove the makeup from your face. It has been a sweet night out, you and Feyd finally alone, eating a nice meal and just walking around town to enjoy the soft spring, after a harsh, snowy winter, reconnecting after he’s been away for work.

You ignore the chiming of your phone, it’s either the group chat with the girls, or the one you have with Feyd’s exes, the self called Harpies.

“Is What If I Were Your Mother buzzing tonight?” 

“Oh, you need to keep yourself up to date baby, it’s Pick Me, Choose Me, Love Me now.”

“Am I supposed to get the reference?” Even without eyebrows you can see the muscles lift in silent judgment.

“Grey’s Anatomy baby. You watched it with me.”

“I dissociated most of the times.”

“Asshole.”

“You’re beautiful.” 

Feyd’s hands travel slowly up the silk of your nightgown and stop under your breasts, the whiteness of his skin contrasts with the black material hugging your curves; you love wearing colorful clothes and decorate your shared apartment had been a push and pull between his monochrome austerity and your explosive personality, you’ve only folded to his request that you wear black lingerie for him (that you use truly ridiculous stuff when he’s not around it’s a secret between you and the two group chats).

You lean against his naked chest, letting your head brush against the long column of his neck, reveling in the smoothness of his skin; you miss having beard burns between your legs, your Feyd makes up for it with the bite marks he leaves on your skin when he hungers for your taste, which is always.

“I know you’ve been a bad girl.” He drawls in your ear, part of his face hidden by your hair.

“You need to be more specific than that, ah!”

Feyd’s long fingers pinch your pierced nipples through your nightgown; he was with you when you had both done, he had kept his forehead against yours while the nice lady piercer did her part. 

He had kept the low rumble of his voice to a minimum, describing how he was going to pleasure you as a reward for your courage; you were so torn between fear and excitement that you didn’t really listen to him and if the lady piercer did, she ignored him. 

Now you two match and it drives you crazy that under the expensive clothes he wears at work, Feyd hides similar body mods to yours; you haven’t gotten used to yours yet and even if your nipples have healed nicely, they’ve become more sensitive, and Feyd loves using this against you.

“I’ve noticed the new books on your beside table, little dove.” 

His hands cup your breasts, chocking the answer in your throat.

“I… I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You try to keep hold of his stare through the mirror. “I’ve moved some old books I want to read ouch! Ah! Feyd please!”

Feyd’s fingers pinch the small barbells on your nipples, only to pull at them until you start whining pathetically.

“Do you really think I don’t know all the titles on you bookshelf, little dove? Britney Spears’s biography? Really?”

You don’t answer immediately, needing to catch your breath and he takes advantage of your silence to run the piercing on his tongue up your neck, his sharp eyes not missing the way your body trembles against his.

“Par condicio baby.” You finally manage to answer. “I have read her sister’s, now hers. I want to know every detail. All the tea, as the kids say.”

“You’re truly going to become the epitome of an old busybody.” He says, with genuine affection in his voice.

“And I will share everything with you. Because you are as curious as I am, my love.”

Gently, Feyd lets his hands run up your chest until he’s reached your head of hair. 

Not only the Harkonnens, but all the natives of Geidi Prime have been genetically modified to not grow any sort of hair on their body and yours still fascinate him after all this time together. Whenever he can, he braids them before you two have to leave for work and he makes a point of undoing all your hairstyles when you are finally home, just so that he can feel the texture of your hair against his hands and the smell of your shampoo in his nostrils.

Painstakingly slowly Feyd removes all the pins from your hair, freeing each lock until they all cascade down your back and he can grab your roots, reveling in the feeling against his hands; you moan at the way he massages your scalp, slightly pulling to make you moan at his leisure. 

Under the too bright bathroom lights he can absorb all your facial expressions, he can see your nipples push against the silk of your nightgown and his mouth waters at the thought that you must be wet already, for him.

Quick, so quick that your head spins, Feyd turns you around and sits you on the bathroom counter, back to the big mirror, the hem of your nightgown already brunched around your hips.

You don’t have the chance to realize what he’s doing that two of his fingers are already under your panties, playing with the wetness there; he can’t wait to accompany you to have your clit and labia pierced, this way you two will truly match (even though you can’t have your tongue done); you two will have to stop vaginal sex for a little while, but to the greater purpose of him torturing your pretty cunt for your shared pleasure.

“Up!” He orders and you comply, lifting your arse so that he can remove your lacy panties. “Good girl.” He drawls when you spread your legs for him even wider, to accommodate his huge frame.

“Are you going to take care of me, Feyd?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, electing to suck on the delicate skin of your tight, until he’s sure a nice mark will blossom; he loves keeping you on edge: perhaps he will torment you for his own pleasure, perhaps he will give it all to you, until the lines blur.

“Don’t I always, little dove?”

“I missed you, so much.” You say with a small voice, your hand cupping his smooth cheek.

“So I did you.”

There’s a dark smirk tinging his lips as he kneels between your parted tights, his big hands on your knees in a show of ownership that has your head spin and fall back against the cold mirror.

Feyd lips are so warm against your skin, and so soft as he kisses a slow path to your cunt, up, up he goes, until his hands can grab at your hips to still your movements and open your labia with his thumbs to make way for his long tongue.

His movements are slow, the barbell on his tongue cold against your clit as he slowly massages it, writing nonsense that has you keen already. He can’t help himself but suck gently when your ankles cross behind his head to keep him in place. Over the lecherous sounds of your pleasure he can her your nails scrape against the mirror in the vain attempt to gain control: not yet, now you are for him to torment.

His tongue slowly runs down to your hole and he moans at the honey he finds there: so much and all for him! 

Hungry his tongue fucks you, the piercing stimulating all your nerves all the more, his big hands clench on your hips when you try to squirm away from his nose; on instinct you arch against his intrusion, your ankles pull him tighter against you as you wail your pleasure, small sobs like pain that spur him on all the more.

You come all over his face and keen when he starts sucking on your clit again, overstimulated and delirious you try to push him away, only for him to growl against your sensitive skin, triggering a smaller orgasm that shakes you.

Feyd stares at you with enlarged pupils, his face drenched in your sweetness, his cock torture against the cotton of his bottoms.

“Feyd, please.” You say breathless.

With a fluid motion he stands up and carries you bridal style to the bed, where he sits you to help you out of your nightgown, before discarding his soiled pajama trousers.

His pierced cock stands proud, leaking from the head; you were scared the first time you’ve seen it, imagining how painful it must have been for him, now you’ve come to love every single piece of jewelry adorning his manhood. From the Magic Cross on the head, to the small Frenulum ring, down to all the beadings on his shaft and the small ring on his perineum, you’ve kissed and played with all of them, tormenting Feyd, until he couldn’t understand if it was pleasure, or pain that triggered his orgasm.

You can’t wait to go with him, have your own privates worked on, while he adds the last beadings to complete the whole shaft: you know that sharing this will bind you tighter than the ring he will soon put on your finger, and it both excites and scares you to your core.

Feyd lays next to you to lazily kiss you, his soft lips on yours unhurriedly share your heady taste with you. His hands are in your hair, your nails are scratch down his back: you’re so hungry!

The ping of the received message interrupts you two.

“Ah shit! I think I need to answer this one.”

Feyd doesn’t say a word, he simply stares at you, his non existed brows raised.

“Baby this might be important. It’s Alia.”

Of all his Atreides relations, his little cousin is the only one he can truly stomach; he’s not happy that Chani is one of your oldest friends and that you hang out with her and Paul so much, yet he accepts your friendship with weird and off putting Alia.

“What happened with her?” He asks, curious.

“Let me check my phone and I will be able to tell you.”

With a huff Feyd goes to retrieve your phone and kneels between your splayed legs as you unlock your screen.

“There! I knew it!”

“What did she do?”

“Not her, the guy she was messaging with. He seemed so nice, too nice, if you know what I mean: he sent her a dick pick and us girls are discussing how to retaliate.”

“A dick pic?” Feyd looks sincerely puzzled. “Why?”

“You should ask your male friends. I know I hit the jackpot with you, but most of the guys out there are useless pieces of shit. Hang on, let me send this quick voice memo.” You say locking your ankles against his back to pull yourself up and kiss his nose. 

“Girls, I say that the old fashioned guillotine gif is the best way to go. My favorite is the small one chopping off the wurst but I stand with whichever you want to send. Now I am going to disappear because I’m getting laid. Cheers girls!” 

For the hundredth time, Feyd wonders what horrors that chat contains; he is not sure his Harkonnen upbringing has prepared him to face them. A whole host of women let loose without any sort of filter? No thank you!

Using his own lack of concentration, you roll the two of you, straddling his still erect cock; you raise your eyebrow at him and he just shrugs: horrified or not, you’re still naked and he hasn’t come yet.

“Fuck yourself on my cock, little dove.” He drawls.

“Not so fast, baby. You had your fun.”

When he tries to roll the two of you again, you grab his wrist and push them against the mattress and ground your naked cunt against the ridges of his cock. From your vantage point you stare at Feyd: you know he can easily manhandle you, he has done so many times, the fact that he’s letting you dominate him, that he is willingly submitting to you, drives you as dizzy and wild pleasure, as his pierced cock is.

Feyd hips kick under yours, the jewels on his manhood only enhancing the torment you’re subjecting him to, your wet, warm lips envelop his erection and he fancies he can feel your hole clench around nothing.

You straighten your back and grab at your own hair with a long moan of pleasure, Feyd’s hands grab your hips in retaliation, forcing you to move even faster on his erection; he only wished he had put weights on your nipples, just to hear you cry out in pain.

Abruptly you plant your hands on his chest to rub your engorged clit on one of the beads on his cock; the pleasure you feel makes all your muscles tremble with the effort to move, your orgasm so close, so close!

You come with a scream, your nails stabbing Feyd’s pectoral, triggering his own release between your lower lips and his muscled abdomen; he growls at the pleasure and at the frustration of not spending himself inside of you, feeling his balls draw up with the force if his orgasm.

You fall in his arms, breathing fast as you kiss all the available skin your lips can reach.

“I’m not done with you, Feyd-Rautha.” You growl in his ear.

The sound that escapes his mouth is a mix between a whine and a groan, his cock still hard and pressed between your bodies; under you his long back arches when you start making your way down the planes of his muscles, your lips finding the small rings on his nipples, your teeth pull at the metal until he keens, the small pain exploding in his engorged cock.

“Little dove.” He groans.

“None of that, my love. I’ve missed you so much.”

Feyd moans at the heath in your words: physically he’s the stronger one, yet he knows you could destroy him with a snap of your fingers.

A long litany of moans spill from his parted lips with every lick and small bite, he feels his balls draw up again, ready to spill.

“Not yet, Feyd. I want you to come inside of me.”

He growls when your hand curls around his base, your teeth pulling cruelly at the ring on his perineum as he writes on the black sheets: he’s so ready to explode for you, paint your insides with his thick cum.

You can feel his long legs scramble against the mattress when your lips find his frenulum ring, your tongue plays with the small piece of metal and the small strip of oversensitive skin; despite your cruel hold, small beads of precome bubble and slide from his cock, meeting your curious tongue.

His taste explodes in your mouth, making you ravenous as you suck on his pierced head with thirst, your teeth playing with the delicate skin; he tries to call your name when your nails rake down the skin of his tights, tortured sounds escape instead, pulled forth by your teeth pulling on one of the beads of the Magic Cross.

With a lewd pop you let his erection fall against his clenching abs, to give him a modicum of respite before attacking him again.

You rise to your knees, your body framed by his trembling legs, simply to observe your handiwork: the marks blooming on his delicate skin, his pupils completely expanded and fixed on the patch of hair between your legs and on the wetness he can see.

“Shall I sit on your face, or use your cock for all it’s worth?”

For a second Feyd can’t answer, his eyes mesmerized by your hands caressing your body and massaging your breasts: he needs to suck on your nipples, or he’ll go mad!

With disconnected movements he pats his hip and you laugh at the way need robs him of his preternatural coordination.

“Say it. I want to hear it!” You command, your fingers still pinching your nipples.

Feyd licks his lips; the room is so saturated with the smell of sex that he fancies he can still taste you on his lips.

Without breaking eye contact, Feyd growls low in his throat.

“Come and use your cock, little dove. I bet your cunt missed it.”

“I think it’s you who missed me more.” You say, crawling towards him. “What are you going to do while my new piercings will need to heal? Go mad with need?”

The idea of holding you while you get your clit pierced forces a shudder through his body: soon, it is going to be so soon!

“I can always play your arse.” He answers, burning with the need to breach you. 

“You’ll have to beg better than that.” You say, flicking his engorged head and earning a lovely yelp of pain.

You position yourself on his cock, you are both so wet you don’t need any more preparation and your cunt welcomes him with a slight tremble.

Feyd’s hands clench on your hips to help you ride with gentle movements that have your clenching muscles slowly relax around his cock, sucking him in until you’re sitting fully on him, feeling every ridge and modification against the velvet of your walls.

To give him a full view, you put your hands on his raised knees and use him for leverage. Slowly you lift yourself up and down, making sure he sees his cock, drenched in your juices, disappear where you two meet with lewd squelching sounds. 

You’ve thrown your head back, letting your hair touch his legs, and miss the way he looks at your body, how ravenous the sight of your combined comes around his base makes him. 

He groans when you bounce faster on him, beads of sweat roll between your lush breasts and he tries to sit up to suck on them, but a tight squeeze of your hole deprives him of all strength. 

“Tell me what you need, my love”. You ask, sitting firmly on his hips. 

Feyd's hands clench on your hips, your cunt is strangling him so perfectly his eyes cross. 

“You nipples…” He groans, almost in pain. “Let me suck on them!” 

Nonchalant you cup your breasts and lightly pull on the rings, not missing the way Feyd's cock twitches inside of you. 

“Do you want to suck on them? Cover all my skin with your marks?”

Feyd's body shakes under you, the wires in his head crossing with the need to taste you, and to come inside of you. 

“Yes!” He manages to groan, as desperate as a drowning man. 

Taking your sweet time to torment him, you push your weight forward and on your arms, your tits millimeters away from his hungry mouth; before he can latch his lips around one areola, you stop him. 

“What if I make you choose between my breasts and coming, tonight? What's your priority?”

Feyd's fingers stab your hips with the desperation he feels: he needs both! 

“You love my mouth on you, you never come as fast as when I fuck your cunt and pull on your rings.”

Desperate times need desperate moves. 

Pensively you cup your breasts again and start moving slowly, the cacophony of moans and sobs spurring you on. 

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the powerful heir to his family fortune, reduced to a bitch in heat under you, begging for your body, beautiful in his need of you and of your guidance. 

“I think you’re right, baby. There's nothing better than your cock in my cunt and your lips on my tits.”

You lay on him again, letting his mouth latch around one pert nipple as his hips piston desperately inside of you; as much as you’re trying to control yourself, the precipice of another orgasms is closer and closer, aided by the delicious mods on Feyd's cock against your quivering walls, hitting everywhere all at once, battering all your nerves without mercy while his teeth worry and pull at your pierced nipple: pain and pleasure a blur in your mind and in his. 

Feyd's hips ram faster and faster against your G spot, spurred as he is by your show of dominance and control over him; he can barely contain himself when you squeeze tighter than ever. You haven't ordered him, yet: he can't come without your permission. 

“Now Feyd!” 

Your barked order dissolves any control he has on himself: grabs you and pulls you tight against his hips and comes, triggering your own orgasm. 

You grind against him, prolonging your shared pleasure until it hurts and you have to let his softened cock slip from your cunt. 

You can feel his thick cum slide from your overused cunt and you shudder on him, he simply cages you against his strong body until he feels your body relax. 

His hand goes to your head to knead the long tresses, one of his favorite post sex rituals as you leave butterfly kisses all over the marks on his neck. 

“You OK baby?” You whisper gently against his skin. 

“Yes, stay.” He adds when you try to go to the bathroom. 

“We're sticky, baby.”

“You smell like me. Let me enjoy it.”

You recognize his tone, he needs to be held more to ground himself back into control. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Come here.”

You tell him and he simply puts his head against your chest, letting himself be cradled by you. 

“Let's chill, OK? I missed you.”

He doesn't answer but you can detect how heavy his breathing is: he's going to fall asleep soon and you let yourself follow him. 

[lostfirefly]

Baby, baby when you're looking deep in my eyes, I know you're seeing past my make-up

I know everyone has a story like this, but I decided to write my version too. I also have the same theme planned for my OC, but it will be a completely different tone. English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Buggy and F/GN Reader - Masterlist is here.

Description: Buggy asks you to help him apply makeup.

Words: 2524

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots

The title is taken from “All That I Got (The Make Up Song)” by Fergie.

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“Captain Buggy, the love of my life, I was on deck now and one of your freaks handed over some kind of box.” You entered your shared cabin and froze at the doorway. 

“Nine, ten. And a couple more for luck.” Buggy was wearing only pajama pants and doing push-ups with his fists. “Eleven. Twelve. Four times twelve, I'm still pretty good.” 

“Geeez! You should've warned me about this. I walk into the cabin, and there’s such a sexy picture. You’re half naked and doing push-ups.” You smiled and raised your eyebrows.

 “Like what you see, huh?” He chuckled. 

“I don’t just like it, I’m delighted! My love, the box.” You shook the package slightly.

“Wait. I'll do three more push-ups. One. Two. Three.” Buggy stood up from the floor. “The seduction program is completed, right, pumpkin?” He kissed you on the forehead. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“I love you, bastard! How did it happen that you took me to your ship? I remember my mother was screaming, “Y/N, he's a clown, stop, what are you doing”, while you grabbed the essentials from my closet and then carried me up the stairs on your shoulder.” You kissed Buggy on his cheek.

“See? I liked you.” Buggy wrapped one arm around your waist, and lightly poked your nose with his other arm’s finger. “I came.” Poked again. “And got you.” Poked again. “It's simple.”  

“Yes, just like a real pirate!” You giggled. 

“Hey, I’m a real pirate! We are on my ship, Y/N. I have my own flag and the crew.” 

“Oh, I'm sorry, my love!” You rolled your eyes theatrically. “How could I forget? The scariest crew in the whole world! And you are the most formidable of all the pirates! And you will definitely become the king of the pirates, and you will be feared in all parts of the world. But until that happens, look at the package. The new boy with grey hair who joined your crew a few days ago gave it to me. Said it was sent by some bearded guy.”

“Oh, this is my new set of cosmetics.” Buggy grabbed the box from your hands. “Listen, no one has seen or knows that I’m without... well... without makeup.” 

“No, I made sure no one saw.” You pecked him on his nose. “You know, this is even great. Can you imagine that I’m the only person in the world who sees you without makeup in the morning? I’m the happiest girl. Open up!” You clapped your hands. “I want to see what's there!”

Buggy plopped down on the bed and opened the box. You sat on his lap, began stroking his back and kissed his temple. 

“What's here? Shadows, powder, eyeliners. Lord, why do you need 50 lipsticks?” Your eyes rounded.

“We won’t be able to moor in the near future. I need supplies.” Buggy was taking cosmetics out of a box. 

“But not fifty lipsticks, Buggy!”

“I need this, because one cute pumpkin uses my cosmetics too.” He took one of the tubes out of the box. “Look! New mascara! Waterproof! So if I fall into the water, I'll at least partially remain handsome!” 

“I won’t let you fall into the water! I still need you in this life.” You took the mascara and twirled in your hands. 

“Okay, I need to go out on deck and go check on the fucking crew. But first I need to do my makeup.” Buggy looked at you and winked. “Can you help me, pumpkin?”

“With great pleasure, my love!” You kissed him on his lips. “I’m the luckiest girl. And you made me this, remember that.” 

Buggy stood up from the bed, holding you in his arms, and carried you to the dressing table. It was a huge wooden table with a large mirror and several bright lamps located around the perimeter of the table.

“I love doing this, to be honest!” You said happily. “Watching my Buggy turn into Buggy the Clown, but even under a layer of makeup I see the real you!” 

You stood up from his lap, took his makeup bag, placed it on the table and rubbed your hands. “Let's start! First the white powder.” You took a round black box and a large fluffy sponge. “Close your eyes!”

Buggy widened his eyes. “How should I look at you? No, pumpkin! It doesn’t work like that!” 

“Holy moly!” You rolled your eyes and threw up your hands. “It's starting again! Close your eyes, I'll try to make it faster.” 

“Okay! But I hope that when I open them, you'll be naked.” Buggy smiled widely. 

You dipped the sponge into the powder and began to gently apply it to his face. “Ouch, Buggy! Stop pinching my butt!”

“Sorry, Y/N, I couldn't resist. You're seducing me with your clothes.” He moved his hands to your tailbone.

“I can't seduce you! I'm wearing jeans overalls, Buggy! And I look like a garden gnome.” You said, continued applying the powder. 

“Have you seen yourself? This is one hell of a jumpsuit. Your ass looks fucking amazing in it!” Buggy clicked his tongue. 

“Asshole! Don't distract me!” You bit your tongue and tried to stay focused, running the sponge over his face. “And there you go... Done! Now for the eyeliner.” 

You picked up the black tube, unscrewed the cap, and carefully looked at the brush. You examined Buggy’s face from all sides, choosing the best angle of the light. “Oh, there! Don't open your eyes!”

“Have you undressed yet, baby?” 

“God, you're unbearable sometimes. Don't move!” You started to run the brush along his lash line when your hand twitched. “Stop pinching my butt! Otherwise, I'll poke you in the eye one day.” 

“Oh, if you will be naked at the same time, I’m not against such sacrifices.” Buggy smirked and opened his eyes. 

“Close your eyes! You saw me naked at night, calm down!” You squinted and drew a thin black line with eyeliner. 

“It was a long time ago, Y/N. I’ve already forgotten everything.” Buggy exhaled sadly and stretched his back a little.

“That was two hours ago, Buggy! Sit still!” You ran the eyeliner over his other eye and carefully examined the result of the work. “It turns out beautifully! Why is that all? Because I have a handsome canvas.” You pecked him on the lips, and he visibly blushed. “My Captain got embarrassed.” You giggled. “What's next? Bones or eye shadow? Let's draw bones.” 

You picked up a pencil, white paint and a sponge, and sat on his lap. “It will be more convenient.” You wrinkled your forehead and nose slightly. 

“This is too much, Y/N! Why are you doing this?” Buggy opened his eyes and placed his hands on your waist.  

“I do nothing.” You bit your bottom lip and began to trace the outline of the bones. "I'm just drawing." 

"You're sitting on me, biting your lips. It's kind of a turn on." 

“What's wrong with you today? You can't calm down.” You gently ran the brush down to his eyebrows. “Eyes, Buggy.”

“I'm a dirty pirate, pumpkin!” Buggy closed his eyes and began to lower his hands to your hips. “I never calm down.” 

“Yes, I noticed. Sit still, please!” You slowly began to move the brush from his eyebrows to below. “You have wrinkles. I like it.” You dipped the brush into the jar and felt Buggy’s hands begin to stroke your thighs. “If you don’t stop doing this now, I will tear off your hands and put them in the chest. Sit still, otherwise everything will be crooked. I can’t allow the captain to come on deck with crooked makeup. The ocean is calm and we can’t blame the storm.” You slapped his hands and continued drawing. “Hah, a little more and I will be able to do all this with my eyes closed.”

You grabbed his chin with one hand and turned his head in different directions. “Looks good. Look.”

Buggy opened his eyes and made a displeased face. 

“What's happened?” You asked, looking from his face to the mirror. 

“Not what I wanted. The bones should be bigger, Y/N. What is this? It looks more like the bones of a fucking dead quail than part of a Jolly Roger.” Buggy looked at his reflection in the mirror. 

“Oh, my God. How much more?” You rolled your eyes. “Should I draw something all over your face? I did bones as usual.” 

“No, not as usual. It’s different.” Buggy made a sad face. 

“Okay. Now I'll redo it a little.” You growled, erased the ends of the bones, and began drawing again. “Buggy! Stop it!”

“I do nothing!” He shrugged, answering calmly. 

“You're stroking my neck. Don't distract me, asshole.” You drew an outline for a larger drawing.

“It’s not me. It’s you sitting beautifully on me.” 

“You are unbearable.” You ran the brush a little more and squinted. “Look now, capricious boy. Are you happy now?” 

Buggy looked in the mirror for a long time, tilting his head now to the right, now to the left. “Now it is better.” 

“Hurray for me! Now I’ll cover them up for you and start working on the shadows.”  You dipped the sponge into the white paint and began to paint over the bones, humming softly. “It’s getting better and better. If you hadn't been fidgeting and pawing me, the whole process wouldn't have taken so long. Little mischievous boy.” You kissed his nose. 

“I'm not a little boy. Little boys don't do what we did this morning.” Buggy giggled idiotically and placed his hands on your waist. “That was so-o-o good! I like hearing your voice screaming my name loudly.” 

“Shit, I hope no one on the crew heard me.” You carefully ran the sponge over the white layer of paint again. 

“Fuck them! Let them hear. I’m the captain, and even if anyone says anything bad about you, I’ll throw him overboard.” Buggy wrapped his arms around your waist and looked at your concentrated face. 

“Thank you, my formidable protector.” You pecked him on the lips. “I love you!” You looked at his forehead again. “Okay, I'm done with the bones. Now for the shadows. ” You took a box of blue shadows and a brush. “Oh, I remember how at the beginning of our relationship, you were dying of jealousy when I helped your entire crew with makeup.”

“I wasn't dying of jealousy. I just didn't like it.” Buggy slowly rubbed your back. 

“Close your eyes. I'll draw you your blue things.” You looked down at him and saw him shaking his head negatively. “You don't want to close your pretty eyes? But you have to, Buggy. I promise, when you open them, I’ll be here.” 

Buggy exhaled sadly, closed his eyes and raised his head a little.

“Up, down. Wider here, narrower here. Blue here and here” You lowered the brush into the shadows and continued applying them to his face. “The perfect combination with the color of your eyes and hair. What are your plans for the evening? If you won't be too tired, maybe we will sit on the deck with wine and will look at the stars? I love it when we spend our evenings like this.” 

“Sounds great.” He slightly nodded. “Moreover, I bought you some bottles of wine when we landed on the island.” 

“Thank you, my love!” You pecked his lips again. “Done! So. Look. Do you like it?” 

Buggy squinted and looked at himself in the mirror for a long time. “Not bad.” He exhaled.

“You don't like it, right?”  You stroked his hair. 

“Well, Y/N.. You know, it all needs to be brighter.” 

“But it's still so bright, Buggy.” You looked in the mirror and then at his face.

“Not bright enough, pumpkin.” Buggy shrugged.

You glanced at his upset face. “Okay. I'll fix it now.” You stood up from his lap and began rummaging through his makeup bag. “Where is the glitter? I can't find it.”

“I moved it to the second drawer from the bottom yesterday.” He pointed to the drawer.

“Ok.” You leaned over, heard a giggle from behind you, and glanced at him. “Did you do this on purpose, clown? Did you purposely move the jars down so I could bend over, and you could look at my ass?” 

“Yeah.” He nodded contentedly, without a trace of regret on his face. 

“Idiot!” You laughed and shook your head. 

“What? You have a nice ass, Y/N and I like looking at it.”

You found the glitter and sat back on his lap. “You're lucky we're far out to sea and I can't escape from you.” 

“So that’s why I took you far out to sea so that you couldn’t escape from me.” Buggy hugged you and kissed you on the lips. “It was a strategic move, baby.” 

You rolled your eyes and dipped your brush into the glitter. “Now I will make my bright and handsome clown even brighter and more handsome. One. Two. Three. Look. What do you think?”

“Perfect, Y/N.” He snapped his fingers.

“And now, mascara.” You took the mascara in your hands, unscrewed the cap and looked carefully at the brush. You carefully placed your fingers on his cheekbones, pursed your lips and swiped mascara over his eyelashes several times. “Now your beautiful eyes look more expressive. Okay, we only have lips left.” You took his makeup bag and took out lipstick from there. You unscrewed the cap and unscrewed the lipstick spout. “Put your sweet lips closer to me.” 

“I heard something similar this morning from myself.” Buggy chuckled again. 

“Shut up, idiot.” You swiped the lipstick over his lips a few time. You set it aside and running your fingers across his lips, beginning to smear it around his mouth. “Damn, I think I overdid with lipstick today. See?” You showed him your red hand, which was smeared with a thick layer. 

“Oh, I know a way to deal with this!” Buggy hugged you tighter and pressed his lips to yours. You just squeaked something through the kiss, lightly patted him on the shoulder, but realizing that he wouldn’t stop, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yes, that's much better.” You answered quietly, wiping your lips. 

Buggy looked at you, exhaled heavily and buried the top of his head into your chest. 

“What's wrong, my love?” You stroked his head. 

“Nothing, Y/N. I’m gathering strength for the day. I don’t want to go anywhere, but...” He muttered under his breath. 

“Captain’s affairs won’t take care of themselves.” You said quietly. 

Buggy nodded silently. You got up from his lap, watched him get dressed, periodically glancing at you. 

You helped him with the bandana and kissed him before leaving. “If you feel sad in the middle of the day, just find me. I’ll hug you, and you’ll feel better, agreed?” 

Buggy nodded and kissed the top of your head. 

“Have a nice day, my Captain Buggy. I love you!” You stroked his shoulders. 

“I love you too, Y/N.”

[carlgrimesenthusiast]

reader is new to alexandria so rick asks Carl to show her around, she's distant and is full on guard since she doesnt trust anyone yet, carl tries to convince her that she's safe now, "Look, I know this must be scary for you, to be alone in this world, but you're safe, now. You can trust us, we'll - I WILL keep you safe." hehehehe

YOU’RE NOT ALONE || carl grimes x fem!reader

a/n: hi anon, i love the idea of this!! i really enjoyed writing this so i hope you enjoy reading this. buckle in, this is a long one!!

ever since the apocalypse started, you’ve been all alone. hell, you haven’t even met anybody that was true to you. sure you’ve met some people along the way but they’ve never stuck by your side. they’ve died, left you or simply tried to kill you. you knew that there would be some people who would try to murder you, so of course, you had ways in your head to protect yourself. you didn’t mind meeting people though, it meant that they could share whatever supplies they had, food, water, etcetera.

you weren’t the best at hunting either, you had to ration your food or simply have to find food like everyone else. clean water was hard to find, you either had to filter the water or go to wrecked out supermarkets hoping they’d have something.

some days you hit bullseye, finding an abandoned store full of food and water. some days were the worst, you would’ve been treading around everywhere but couldn’t find any source. your legs tired, sweat dribbling, feet aching, back aching and you arms becoming lazy. you couldn’t stop walking until you found somewhere safe to stay the night else you definitely would regret it.

these problems all disappear as soon as you come contact with two men. one with dark, long dark brown hair with a beard coming and the other guy with soon to all be grey hair with a shaven face.

“how old are you?” one of them ask.

“16.” you lied. you have no clue how old you are since you don’t even know what year it is, what month is or date.

“how many walkers have you killed?” the other asks with his grasp voice.

“every single one i come across.” you thought walkers were what they called the creatures, and you were correct. you‘ve seen many, many walkers and have killed them all. the more gone, the less there are which means the easier to live. it was easy anyways, they were slow, anyone would be able to outrun them.

the two guys glance at each other, “how many people have you killed?”

“2.” you sigh, you didn’t know if they thought that’s bad or good.

“why?” he questions, not daring to look away.

“one of them tried to steal my supplies and the other one tried to kill me.” you didn’t want to die, you wanted to see how long this apocalypse would last and if the world will turn back to normal. there were very low chances of that happening but a girl can hope.

the two guys look at each other and nod, “come with us, we have a safe place you can stay.” your eyes lighten up. you did not expect that, your jaw dropped.

“seriously?” you ask, shock filling your expressions. the one with long, dark brown hair simply nods.

“the names daryl ‘nd thats rick.” he points his thumb in ricks direction.

“y/n.” you say, “let’s get to this place then.” you start walking ahead of them.

you didn’t make it to six steps before one of them spoke, “it’s this way.” rick points in the other direction.

“oh, okay.” you embarrassingly turned around and made your way to the correct direction.

_

“this is alexandria.” rick says, someone behind the gates dragged it open, revealing all the beautiful houses. just like before. the trees tall and thick, smiles on everyone’s faces, people doing daily jobs, families taking walks. just like before.

they gesture for you to go in first as you do so, “where did you find her…” you heard someone whisper from behind you, you turned around to see a girl with long, black hair and brown clear skin.

“we just came across her, she’s young, we can’t just leave her.” rick whispers back, you noticed daryl wasn’t there anymore. you turn around to look where he disappeared off to. you saw him walking off into the distance, he’s probably not that sociable. “so,” you were bought out of your thoughts, rick started walking off so you followed where he was going, “i’ll get my son to show you around since there’s other work to be done here, everybody has a job. you need to contribute to help us move forward, if you have a problem with that you can happily leave.” he glances down at you. “you can help sort the food out, make sure equal amounts go to each household, go on a run and find weapons or food, planting to grow our own vegetables, sorting out supplies, making sure that each house have toilet paper, towels, all the essentials.” you nod as you heard him list everything. planting sounds the best to you but sorting out supplies brings you more satisfaction.

as you walk across the road, many people wave and smile at rick. he returns them all, putting his thumbs up at everyone whilst smiling as well.

“carl!” he shouts, a boy with long, brown hair turns around. he was wearing a cowboy hat and a flannel shit unbuttoned with a white shirt beneath. “this is y/n, you need to show her around. show her how the different jobs work around here, each area and also her own house.” rick explains. you get your own house?! woah this is gonna be fun

carl looks down at you. you weren’t incredibly smaller than him, just reaching about his eye length. “yeah, okay dad.” rick walks off going to do whatever. “so, how old are you.” carl asks, you follow wherever he’s going.

“16.”

“seriously? me too.” carl chuckles. it wasn’t funny. you thought. you raised your eyebrows quickly, giving a close lipped smile just to be supportive to him. “do you have any siblings.” what do you think? if i did, they would be by my side. you hesitate to answer, you didn’t know if you good trust these people. this whole place was too good to be true. to be honest, you didn’t remember if you had any. your mind went blank. you look up to see carl staring right down at you, carl could sense that you were probably scared. “hey-“ before carl could say anything else he was interrupted by some girl. she has brown hair and fair skin.

“carl, judith is crying for somebody. i can’t find your dad or michonne.” the girl has a worried expression on her face. “who’s this?” she points towards you. she looks you up and down, daringly. you crossed your arms.

“enid, this is y/n. y/n this is enid.” carl says, swaying from side to side slightly with his hands in his pockets. “i’ll be there soon, i want to finish showing y/n around.”

“oh, okay. be quick.” enid smiles up at carl, then looks at you and walks away.

“anyways, let me show you where we do the planting.” carl says, he walks next to you, side by side. he brings you to an area with rows of soil and grass. carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, potatoes and more all growing. you could see that the lettuce were grown and somebody was removing them from their roots. another gardener was giving the soil water. water. you haven’t had fresh, clean water in a very long time. now you know what the first thing you would do, would be.

you space out, and it was very visible to carl. “hey,” he waved his hands in front of your face, bringing you out of your thoughts. “you good?” he looks concern. you just stared up at him, studying his features. your eyes started to blur, you felt…guilty. your family wasn’t here to share all these wonderful things. the amount of luck you had was impeccable. their bodies were decomposed, nothing left but a pile of bones. and here you were, bathing in all this sunshine and happiness. an accidental tear slipped down your face. “y/n, are you alright? what happened?” your head shot in carls direction, which was very close to your face. you hand immediately wipes off the tear that fell.

“can you just show me my house.” you didn’t dare look at carl, already embarrassed from crying right in front of him. why did you have to cry now?! you could’ve done it when nobody was in sight, were nobody would see or judge you. carl felt bad for you, but had no clue why you were upset. he knew that the best thing to do was just show you were your new home would be.

“this way…” he walks ahead of you this time, thinking that this all startled you or it’s too much to take in right now. i mean, he understands at some angle, and he knows everyone would react differently. he just didn’t expect crying, but all to their own. he occasionally did check behind him to see if you were behind him and didn’t just walk off. “here.” you reach the house, looking up to see chairs sitting out. you walk up the stairs, turning around and looking at the rest of the houses, all so beautiful. carl opens the door, letting you go in first. you enter in, turning on the light switch. all the furniture, nice and neat. not a speck of dirt anywhere. sunshine beaming into the room, you love it. “hope you like it.” were the last words you hear from carl before you heard the door shut. you walked around the house your house. the thought of not needing to pay for the house, and owning a house at your young house surprised you! you ran your finger against the kitchen counters, marble. you continue to look around the house, all this made you so happy.

-

the next morning came, and you open the drawers to see fresh sets of clothing. you put them on, not needing to shower since you took one last night. you enter your bathroom to see…perfumes? two perfumes. you spray it on your clothes, quite nice. you heard a knock on the door, you travel down the stairs and open the door to see…carl standing there.

“hi y/n.” he gleams at you, “you feeling better today?” carl asks, your heart warms when he asked you that. maybe you could actually trust them…or at least carl.

“yeah, much better. that shower really made my mood go up.” you smile, carl chuckles. you weren’t lying, that hot shower really did it for you. finally feeling clean is the best thing you could hope for, especially in a apocalypse.

“that’s really good,” he smiles, “but it’s time for your job…since gardening was the only thing you saw, do you want that as your chore?”

“okay.” you didn’t mind gardening, in fact, you were going to choose it regardless. it was calming and peaceful and quiet, and not tiring. plus, it was fun.

“hey, uh, you should know that you can trust us…” carl looks down at the floor, shy. he looks back up at you not taking your eyes off of him. “ look, i know this must be scary for you, to be alone in this word, but you’re safe, now. you can trust us, we’ll - I WILL keep you safe.” carl spoke confidently. your gaze on carl softened, he was pure in the heart. “my dad told me that people you’ve met before coming here have treated you disgustingly, but i can assure you, that will not happen. nobody will be nasty to you, treat you wrong. you’re safe here, i’ll be your personal bodyguard.”

you giggle, carls eyes lightens as he sees you laugh. the most beautiful laugh he has ever heard. “you’ll be my personal bodyguard?” you laugh, you like the thought of having carl be one. you can trust him, can’t you. it’ll take time for him to fully gain your trust, and carl knew that.

-

a/n: she’s a long one, wasn’t she? i need to start putting this much effort into my next ones. hope you enjoyed!! (my longest fic) not proofread!

[mintmatcha]

This took me 5ever because my brain still hurts! sorry it sucks!!!

"Can you not smoke right now?"

Zeke pulls an even longer drag, pulling away to let the smoke seep from between his bared teeth. The sidewalk outside his apartment is empty besides you two and a collection of trashcans waiting for the morning. Even without summer heat, the stench is almost papable, hanging in the back of your throat.

"When did you become my fucking mother?" He flicks the butt to the ground and crushes it between his dark heel and the pitted concrete. He jams his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched like the hackles on a dog, ready to bite.

Time may have sharpened his teeth, but it's done the same to yours.

"If I was your mother-" You pause, picking words you know you'll regret. This was supposed to be peaceful, and yet you're willingly starting a war- "I would have abandoned you years ago."

Zeke scoffs. Not a strong enough reaction to satisfy the worst part of you.

"Oh. sorry-- if I was your mom I would have sent you to military school and then abandoned you, right?"

Zeke looks up at you from over his glasses, eyes narrowed into slits. His jaw flexes, muscles working as he grits and simmers.

"God, you're such a cunt." His voice is tempered- a sign you hit the exposed nerve he never let heal. After a couple of breaths, something that always fuels the fire instead of calming him, the man straightens. "You'd be a shittiest mom."

Zeke grinds his heel into the ashes again. "And I know shitty moms, don't I?"

Usually, you could shrug his insults off, but this one sticks. He doesn't know yet, how all those tests came back positive, how the doctor gave you tiny pictures of the blob that's growing inside you.

You knew sleeping with your ex was a bad idea, you just didn't think the regret would be so physical.

"No, I wouldn't." The crack shocks him more than you.

"Are you fucking crying?" Zeke softens just a bit, more confused than anything else. You're horrified to realize he's right- tears have begun to bubble down your cheeks. You try to hide behind your hands, but the damage is done; he finds your arm, holding you by the crook of your bow as he dips to your height. "Hey, stop. Stop that. What are you doing?"

He takes your hands into his, manhandling your face free so he can see you properly. You forget that he's pretty under that personality, with deep set blue eyes and tussled blonde hair. His beard is no longer pure brown, but dusted with flecks of grey towards his temples. When he looks at you, it still feels like you're 16, talking to a boy that might love you.

"You've gone soft on me, girl," he clicks his teeth, affect still flat.

But you're not 16. You're fifteen years older than that, talking to a man who broken your heart too many times. The thought of him loving you no longer fills you with butterflies, but something heavier, the sinking feeling of lead in your gut.

"Zeke..."

He's hurt you and you've returned the favor, over and over again. Sometimes by accident, most of the time on purpose.

"What's wrong with you? You never cry over this shit." He throws in a shrug, "Why do you care about being a mom all or a sudden?"

Hands still held away from you, its all you can do to sniffle. As he waits, Zeke's face slowly drops as he thinks, paging through micro-expressions.

His eyes widen. He knows.

"Why do you care about being a mom all of a sudden?" he repeats, much more serious than before.

He knows and yet he waits for you to tell him otherwise.

"I'm pregnant."

The news hits him physically. Zeke recoils, dropping your arms to clutch at his hair, palms digging into his temples.

"Shit. Shit, that's-- it's--" He clears his throat. "It's mine?"

He knows you haven't been dating anyone else; the second anyone gets close, Zeke's there, dragging you back into his mess and back into his bed. That's what happened last month. That's how this happened.

"Yeah, it's yours. Unfortunately."

"Don't. Don't play like that right now." Zeke's head snaps to face you, lips curled in disgust. "I'm trying not to lose my fucking mind and I can't have you fucking insulting me-"

A sob you weren't expecting escapes you. The cocktail of hormones and stress has left you brittle, leaving you crumbling in its wake.

"I'm s-s-sorry," you hiccup, clutching at your face again, "I know you hate me-"

"Stop crying," he says, coming back to you. "I didn't say that, stop crying."

"Jesus Christ, it's fine." With a barely there tremble, Zeke wraps his arms around you and sighs. The wool lapel of his coat digs into your nose harder as he pulls you tighter, a semblance of real affect there. "I'm here, it's fine, it's fine. Just calm down."

"I don't know what I'm going to do," you whimper through hiccups and sniffles, wiping your face on his coat.

"Breathe or else you're gonna pass out." Zeke pats your back, stroking up and down in the way he knows you like. "You're being crazy. Is this really the end of the world?"

You scowl into him. "Fu-fuck you, you're such an asshole."

"There's my girl, there's my spitfire." Zeke presses his lips into the crown of your head, surprisingly chaste and sweet. He does it again, then again, arm locked around your shoulders and chin pressed into your forehead. After a long moment of being locked to him, he begins to sway, pressing one leg against yours to force you backwards. The give and take guides you, pushing you towards his place.

The shuffle is awkward and slow, but the man never lets you part from him, even as he struggles with the lock. You try not to let it comfort you, you try not to fall for him again, but his breath against the crown of your head sends chills down your spine.

Maybe he loves you, deep down somewhere.

The apartment is dark, illuminated by flashes and thrums of light. Eren is sprawled on the couch, headset half off of his head. He barely looks up from his game, throwing a nod your way. You nod back and hope the dim hides your tears.

"Oh, hey." The young adult pushes his mic out of this face, "Z, are we still going to order pizza, or-?"

Zeke shoots him a look.

"Alright, I'll fucking order it, damn."

You're quickly ushered back to Zeke'a room. It looks how it always does- clean, if not barren. You're finally let go, Zeke's arm falling away as you shuffle towards the bed. The man is already rummaging through his closet, pulling out the two extra pillows he keeps there for you.

"Lay down." He joins you there, puffing up the down and piling them the way you like. When you don't immediately obey, he gestures towards it, almost urgent, "Come on."

The conversation you need to have dies on your lips. Both of you stand there, the sound of Eren's game permeating through the thin walls. Tears still stain your cheeks, but the hysteria seems to have stopped for now.

"You want to have it, don't you?" Zeke says.

You nod.

"I figured. You always wanted a kid." The blonde flops down on to the mattress and you follow, spread out of what used to be your side. maybe it still is. "Just didn't think it'd be my kid."

"You don't have to be involved, Zeke."

His boots are muddied at the heels, staining the practically pristine comforter with red clay. Your own shoes aren't much better; the laces are undone and soggy, trailing halfway to the floor.

"I'm not a dead beat." His hand finds yours and squeezes. "I'm a shitbag, but I'm not a dead beat. I'll be here."

That doesn't mean anything. There's no plan, no certainty, no promises- but it makes you feel better regardless. Zeke has never been a good man, but he's always been good to you when it mattered the most.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" he says.

"I think it's a genderless blob of cells right now." you reply, "So it probably looks just like you."

He shoots you a look, not unlike the one he gave Eren.

"You can laugh now, but you're going to be irate when our child looks more like me than you."

Zeke'a hand squeezes tighter and you squeeze back.

[elliesmainhoe]

Hi! Would you write something where Ellie comes back to Jackson crying after she finds out what Joel did at the hospital and reader obviously rushes over- but she gets angry at r and asks if she knew all along too.

Ellie says something like so you let me kiss you or fall in love with you knowing you were lying this whole time, infront of Joel Tommy etc and they find our r and Ellie are dating!

Sorry this is so loaded!!! This is what my mind does at work 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Why?!

Ellie Williams x Reader • FatherFigure!Joel x Reader

Summary: it was bound to happen sooner or later. I mean Joel slaughtering all the fireflies seven years ago was a pretty hard secret to be kept quiet- but you still wish it never reached Ellie's ears.

Content: death mention, arguments, crying, confrontation, guilt, angst, cliffhanger

You were feeling pretty lonely that morning, Ellie was out on patrol with your friends and due to a nasty sprained ankle you were forced to stay home. So instead of moping in your self pity, you limped out of your house and across the street- knocking on Joel's front door.

"Oh hey kiddo- come in, come in" the old man smiled at you, his arm linking with yours as he helped you navigate through the copious amounts of clutter scattered through his house.

"Me and Tommy were just having a cup of coffee. You want one?" He asked once he'd say you down on the barstool at his kitchen island. "Where'd you find coffee old man? That's shits like liquid gold"

"One. A wise man never tells his secrets. Two. Never call me old again. Three. Do you want some or not?" He quipped the corner of his mouth lifting up into a smirk.

"yes Joel. I would like some coffee"

"what's the magic word?" He raised his brow

"please?"

"Don't torment the poor girl" you heard the sound of Tommy's voice emerge from the attached living room

"Hey Tommy" you greeted the man "Hey kid how's the ankle?"

"Killing me"

"don't be such a baby- could've been broken" Joel interrupted only to be answered swiftly by your middle finger.

"You wound me" he joked.

Joel had been the closet thing to a father you had ever had. You were raised by your mother until you were thirteen, your biological father had been bitten during your mom's pregnancy.

You remember it well, you were eating in the cafeteria- scoffing on beef jerky when Maria (your mom's best friend) entered with two strangers and Tommy.

An older man with dark brown hair and a black and grey speckled beard. And a girl, your age, her messy brown hair tied up in a ponytail. She seemed cool.

It took you a week to build up the courage to talk to the girl. And on the chilly Friday morning, you walked into Jackson's cafeteria wearing a thick winter coat as snow settled into your frizzy hair- determined.

Unlike every other day that week, Ellie was missing- the usual table she frequented occupied by someone else eating their breakfast. Instead you approached your mom, who was chatting to Maria and some other ladies.

You leaned forward and whispered in her ear "The girl isn't here...". The past few days your mom had been encouraging you to chat with the new girl. Everyone knew how quiet and shy you were- you struggled making friends and your mom immediately began willing you to talk to the brunette as soon as you showed interest in becoming her friend.

"Hey Maria-" your mother called, drawing maria out of the conversation she was having with another lady. "Where did the new guy and his daughter go?"

"oh Joel and Ellie? They left- said that they had to go meet someone- Tommy wouldn't elaborate on where. Don't know when they'll be back"

It was three months before they returned. During those three months your mother had suffered a terrible accident. She was out on patrol one day- she was sick with a fever, but was too stubborn to tell anyone. She fainted during a runner attack- giving the infected an easy meal.

Ellie was different when she got back and so we're you- she didn't smile and she seemed more timid, not glaring at anyone who walked past like she did before- instead keeping her head hung and eyes on her feet. Your usual shy demeanor was even more so- you were currently living in a spare room of Maria's house- hiding in your bedroom and not seeing anyone.

Maria did eventually lure you out- a new film was being screened and it was one you'd always wanted to see. It was good- but halfway through the movie a plot twist that hit a bit too close to home (a tragedy stricken death of a parent) you decided you need a breather.

You weren't paying attention to the direction your feet were taking you until the familiar sound of Tommy's voice met your ears.

"What's wrong with you Joel? What the fuck happened to you out there?"

"The fireflies- the cure... It would've killed her-"

A pause.

"What did you do Joel?"

Another pause.

"I saved her."

You peered through the doorway "Saved who?"

"Where's your head at kid?" Joel's gruff voice pulled you out of your head as he put down a steaming mug infront of you.

"Thanks Joel." You took a hesitant sip of the dark liquid, pressing your lips into a thin line in thought- "Do you know when Ells gonna be back from patrol? I need to head back to the couch so she doesn't realize I've moved by myself."

"When did they leave?" Tommy asked leaning against Joel's brown kitchen cabinets. "Two-hours ago ish"

"Well if they're taking the route I think they are- then another two hours"

The three of you fell into conversation, chatting about anything and everything while sipping the liquid gold out of the ceramic mugs.

••••••••••••

Twenty minutes passed- your cup now empty, a stained ring left on the graphite counters behind in it's wake as you observed the conversation happening before you, adding little quips in here and there.

A loud bang startled you, your heart stuttering in suprise as the familiar sound of heavy walking boots hits your ears.

"Kiddo- is that you?"

Ellie stormed in- her face red and blotchy, as tear stains ran down her cheeks. "Why?!" She spoke sternly ,but a small break was still evident in her voice.

"What? Kid, what do you mean 'why?'." Joel asked, approaching Ellie only for her to take an unstable step backwards. "The fireflies. I know about it. Why..? Just-" she paused "why Joel?!"

Joel stood there in silence, looking at his daughter and trying to figure out what to say- Tommy's figure stayed anxiously still, as if he hoped he would blend into the background.

Ellie's eyes wanders towards your sitting frame, analysing you. "Why don't you seem surprised...?" She whispered, eyes begining to well with tears again. You sighed.

"Ells..."

"No. No" she denied- the water that had built up finally spilling from her eyes. "Don't- you knew?"

You stayed silent before hesitantly nodding your head, confirming her suspicions.

Silence had never felt so uncomfortable. Her stare burnt into you, her hands shook and you couldn't decide whether it was due to anger or sadness. "I can't-... I can't fucking believe it..."

Her hand covered her mouth, muffling a sob that slipped through her lips. "You- you let me fall in love with you, while lying the whole fucking time. How could you do that?!?" Her tone was frustrated and confused and God... It broke your heart.

Tommy and joels attention turned to you. You and Ellie had never explicitly told them you were in a relationship, there were rumours of course, but you both valued privacy too much to go around parading your relationship to possible homophobes and bigots that could live in Jackson.

"I'm.. I'm sorry. I just i-" you hesitated.

"you just WHAT!" She yelled, " I have kissed you and trusted you and you kept the most important secret from me... How could you do that?!"

Your voice failed you. So many words wanted to leave your mouth but none of them could. After being met with silence she scoffed, rolling her teary eyes and turning on her heels.

"Don't try and find me. I need time to think..." The sound of rushed footsteps became quieter before another large slam of Joel's front door sounded out again.

Fuck.

------------

Idk if I like this or not :/

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NOT PROOFREAD

[samstree]

A Careless Omission

Jaskier reveals he has a type. Geralt behaves strangely. (Or, the "Jaskier likes a dilf" fic, 2.9k, on ao3)

Jaskier doesn’t try to hide his interest.

His face has been slowly heating up with a blush, his lips worried and bitten with nervousness. It nearly makes him feel like a blushing maiden at the sight of her first crush, stomach fluttering and all. Who can blame him? His eyes have been caught by the barkeep since he sat down at the table.

Distantly, he knows Geralt is able to tell, sitting in front of him across the table. A witcher’s senses are too sharp for Jaskier to hide his intentions for anyone they meet on the road, but there’s no room for self-consciousness. His attention is away, following the other man as he works.

The barkeep is tall and burly, with wide shoulders and long legs, hair slightly wet with sweat from working in the kitchens. A few strands of grey hair pepper his brown curls beautifully, as well as his well-groomed beard. The simple clothing cannot hide the taut muscles underneath. Every time he rolls up the sleeves to show the strong lines of his forearm, Jaskier lets out an audible gasp.

Meeting Jaskier’s eyes, he comes to their table and serves two cups of ale with a bright, warm smile.

A bright, warm smile, and a little girl trailing behind him.

“Aww,” Jaskier whispers to Geralt as the man walks away. “Look at him with his daughter.”

The barkeep has brought his daughter to work. The girl looks no older than six, demanding bedtime stories and tugging at his apron constantly. He has to gently coax her to let him finish work first, all the while leaning down to kiss her on the head.

Jaskier’s breath catches, the hammering of his heart so loud he can practically hear it in his ears.

“Hmm.”

Geralt only gives a noncommittal hum while sipping his ale.

“Here we go.” The barkeep returns to their table with two bowls of soup, his smile still bright despite the late hour and his daughter’s chirping. “How do you find our establishment, kind sirs? Hope you liked the ale?”

Before Jaskier can chat up the guy, Geralt cuts in quickly.

“A bit sour,” he says, seemingly grouchier than usual. “And the place is loud.”

It’s entirely too rude, but before Jaskier can apologize for his friend, the barkeep scratches his head shyly and does it first, which makes him all the lovelier.

“Apologies,” he says sincerely. “My Lucja can be a menace when she’s tired. It’s a shame her bedtime happens to be our rush hour. She’s not bothering you too much, is she?”

“No, no!” Jaskier answers, rather too eagerly. “She’s adorable! I hope she’s not making your job difficult, is all.”

Jaskier’s face becomes even hotter when he takes his bowl, their fingers brushing, lingering. Finally, the barkeep is looking at Jaskier properly. His smile grows, stretching almost to his ears.

They hold each other’s gaze, until Geralt sets down his cup suddenly, much louder than necessary, breaking the moment.

“It can get hard at times, but I don’t mind,” the barkeep answers, eyeing Geralt for a moment before turning his attention back to Jaskier. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, you see. I’d choose raising her on my own every time.”

“Oh? Where is her mother?” Jaskier frowns.

“I do not know where she is, sir, nor Lucja’s real father, for she was left at my doorstep as a babe. I meant to send her to the orphanage, but in the end, I just couldn’t see a little girl without a home. She is as much my daughter as she can be. We are a family, as destiny intended.”

What a sweet, sweet man.

Jaskier holds his chest as the fluttering inside intensifies. He’s nearly melting on the spot “Aww…” he sighs softly. “Such sadness, and such a happy ending. You truly are a kind man, sir…?”

“Andrej.”

“I’m Jaskier.” They shake hands, lingering some more.

“Still, it must get lonely for you, being on your own. Would you ever seek other forms of companionship, Andrej, when the long nights are difficult to pass?”

The hopeful hint hides so well under the concern in Jaskier’s voice. He’d like to think he’s rather smooth in his probing, after all these years.

“Well.” Andrej looks as flushed as Jaskier feels. His eyes lower, before lifting up again, looking at Jaskier from under his lashes. “I try to find company when I can, but none as fine as yourself, Jaskier.”

He drags out Jaskier’s name, patiently, sensually, making his bones hum.

The man leaves Jaskier with a suggestive look, and finds Lucja again. He lifts the girl easily, muttering about how he can finally tuck her in bed now. They disappear upstairs, with the girl draped over Andrej’s shoulder, her cheeks round with happiness.

Jaskier stares at them as they leave, eyes following the man until he cannot see them any longer, and then turns back with a dreamy sigh. He stirs his soup absently, occasionally letting out a goofy smile and a quiet giggle, ears still burning. Thoughts of Andrej fill the whole world, his eyes, his smile, his loving heart.

Jaskier knows he’s quickly, entirely, and head over heels, falling in love.

He lets out another giggle at the thought.

Their interaction replays over and over in Jaskier’s head, making him completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Out of nowhere, Geralt clears his throat.

“Oh, dear!” Jaskier startles, blinking. “Geralt, um… You are… still here.”

Huh, he seems to have completely forgotten about Geralt.

“My, my,” Geralt snorts. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Jaskier has no intention of being mortified. He is no longer capable of that emotion when the stars align and hit him with a spell of love. Still, he gives some attention to his friend.

“Sorry, I was a little… beside myself,” he says, his spirit too high to be ruined by Geralt’s inexplicably bad mood. “You know,” Jaskier whispers, revealing the great secret. “It’s my weakness.”

“Weakness?” Geralt narrows his eyes.

“Yes, a man like Andrej.” Jaskier’s eyes brighten in fondness. “I happen to have no resistance around a good father like him.”

A pause of silence, and Geralt squints harder.

“A good… father,” he states, very, very slowly.

“Of course! Did you not notice? He was so good with his daughter earlier, so gentle and loving. I bet he tells the best bedtime stories, and little Lucja will want for nothing in her life. Oh, I cannot help myself, and I—” Jaskier sighs, once again. The amount of sighing today is a bit excessive, even for a poet. He’s well aware. “I think I’m falling in love.”

Geralt looks like he’s trying to suppress a growl, but ends up with an unpleasant grimace.

And Jaskier takes issue with that. He makes an unhappy noise.

“Oh, stop with that face. I know you want to mock me,” Jaskier admonishes, mouth forming a pout. “But I am not ashamed, I’ll have you know. I see being a good father as one of the most attractive qualities in a man, if not the most attractive! Though I admit, I have a soft spot, especially for him. Did you hear the story? To think Andrej took in an orphan girl under such tragic circumstances, just to give her a home… How can my heart not go out to him?”

Jaskier looks into the distance, lapsing into silence. The soup is no longer hot, and he digs into it slowly, mood still chirpy and stomach still full of warm fuzziness.

For some reason, Geralt keeps staring at Jaskier.

He seems offended, even.

“Hmm,” Geralt deadpans, stressing every word. “You are in love, because he is a good father?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jaskier hums absently.

Geralt stares for another moment, and another, his food and drink forgotten. It’s disconcerting. He simply slurps his soup loudly, filling the silence.

Tentatively, Geralt opens his mouth, and closes it, and then, he does it again a few times more.

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. Geralt does the same.

“What?” The bard is running out of patience.

“Nothing,” Geralt answers at the end, rather pointedly, looking directly at Jaskier. “So… Ciri.”

Jaskier blinks at the non sequitur. “Hmm?”

“You do remember her,” Geralt adds, “Ciri?”

Frowning, Jaskier is slightly concerned for Geralt’s sanity. Or his.

“Yes? I’ve not suffered a blow to the head, Geralt. I remember Ciri.”

“Just checking.”

The tiniest pout forms around Geralt’s mouth, a hint of dissatisfaction tugging at his lips like an overgrown child. His eyes are still boring into Jaskier’s face. He pauses for a beat, as if waiting for Jaskier to catch up on something.

Jaskier is even more confused about the weird mood of his witcher. He waits with bated breath for a moment longer, but Geralt is still looking at him expectantly.

Losing patience, Jaskier gestures for him to go on. “Well, what about Ciri?”

Geralt sighs, somehow sounding defeated.

“She wrote to me,” he says, finally dropping the grouchy tone when talking about Ciri. “I got the letter today.”

“Oh.” The mention of Ciri’s letter brings joy to Jaskier’s heart. The girl tends to write to them sporadically during her travels, and Geralt always discusses everything about her with Jaskier. It’s nice to hear from their little witcher-princess, who is actually not so little anymore. “That’s good, Geralt. What did she say?”

Taking a very deep breath, Geralt continues.

“She’s traveling, mostly. Took contracts here and there. Also—” Geralt says carefully, “said she missed me.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier smiles, proudly.

“Yeah, you know. She does… um, miss me, because I—um, you know, I’m her…” Geralt doesn’t finish the sentence, but leaves room for it to be finished. With what, Jaskier isn’t sure.

But Jaskier’s heart twists in sympathy. He misses Ciri dearly too, and it could explain Geralt’s strange behavior today, so he tries something else. “You know, we could visit her,” he suggests. “Write back, see if we can meet up and travel together for a while.”

Geralt’s eyebrows lift, ever so slightly, at those words.

“We can,” he agrees, voice lighter. “And… you remember how she has nightmares. If we travel together, I can stay with her at night until she falls asleep.” He thinks for a second. “Tell her a story or two, chase away the bad dreams, perhaps. It is my duty for her, as she is my… um, Ciri.”

The phrasing is perplexing. She is… all of their Ciri, of course. There’s no telling why Geralt said it like that.

“That’s a shame.” Still, Jaskier doesn’t like the idea of their little girl having nightmares, but then— “Wait, does she still let you tuck her in? She’s turning… twenty this summer, I believe? And now an independently working witcher. Isn’t she too old?”

It seems to dawn on Geralt too.

“Oh.” He blinks. “So she is,” Geralt splutters. “Never mind, then.”

Jaskier can’t blame him. Sometimes, they both forget how fast their little girl grows. She is now a proper grown woman, slaying monsters with better witchering skills and magical powers than anyone could have imagined.

He understands Geralt’s tendency for nostalgia, though. When you find a scared little girl and help her become this confident version of herself over the course of a decade, you’d want to linger in those memories, even though she can easily stand on her own feet now.

“Still, I believe it if you say so,” Jaskier muses. “She’s been through so much before, and past hurt fades slowly. Seeing you could be good for her too.”

Geralt looks down, suddenly stabbing the gooey soup with his spoon as if it’s a particularly difficult fiend. After a moment, he sighs. The excessive sighing seems to be catching on today.

For all of Geralt’s emotional constipation Jaskier has witnessed over the years, today’s grumpy episode is truly a bad one. And then, he thinks more about Geralt’s behavior all day, mentioning Ciri out of nowhere, insisting that she still needs care even though she’s grown. It’s nearly like Geralt is trying to make up for something, or drive a point home.

It’s just that Jaskier has been missing the point all along.

It clicks, all of a sudden.

Oh.

Of course.

How could he be so blind?

“Oh, I see.” He places a hand on Geralt’s arm, exhaling in relief. “Forgive me, Geralt dear, but I see it now.”

“You do?” Hope shines in Geralt’s eyes.

“I do!” Jaskier confirms. “It’s terrible I have not realized earlier. I have been incredibly neglectful of you.”

Eyes wide with hope, Geralt seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation. “Go on,” he prompts.

“It all makes sense. You have been acting weird since we sat down, and with me fussing over Andrej and his daughter…” Jaskier states gently, eyes bright. “Your guilt is acting up again! Am I correct?”

Geralt is frozen like a statue, incredulous.

He must want to deny it, but everything about him says he’s been caught off guard, which means Jaskier must be right on point. He pats himself on the back mentally, proud for having figured out his witcher’s internal struggles. After a few decades, he has become an expert in reading Geralt’s every mood.

Jaskier pulls the chair to the side of the table so they sit closer together, their knees touching. He wraps an arm around Geralt, hands running small circles on his back, a familiar soothing motion for when his witcher’s mind is being unkind to him.

“Um, Jask…”

“You don’t need to deny it, you know.” It’s silly that Geralt still has trouble accepting Jaskier’s help sometimes, so he remains patient. “It’s perfectly reasonable, with Ciri traveling alone, being away from your protection. You still feel responsible for her, as you should. The bond between the two of you is stronger than destiny itself.”

Geralt pinches between his eyes, looking torn. “You don’t need to tell me these things, Jask. That’s… really not what I’m thinking.”

This ridiculous, stubborn man. Jaskier shakes his head.

“Nonsense. You don’t need to hide it from me, Geralt. It’s only me.” Jaskier smiles encouragingly. “I’m always here when you have these doubts. Always. Ciri has to leave you—leave all of us—precisely because you’ve taught her well. You have prepared her in every way you can, and now the world will see what she can do.” He hugs Geralt tighter, knowing his touch is comforting for Geralt in these bouts of self-deprecation. “It’s okay to feel at a loss, but it’s not like she’ll never need you again. You are her father, and nothing will ever change that.”

The words settle quietly, genuinely, and Jaskier feels the tenseness in Geralt’s body fade. He takes pride in himself again, a grin stretching across his face, feeling incredibly achieved.

“Yes,” Geralt whispers, looking directly into Jaskier’s eyes. Their faces are only a hand’s breadth away, his tone intimate and sincere. “I am her father.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jaskier agrees happily. “You are the best father she could ever ask for.”

“Yeah?”

Geralt breathes in, his gaze lowering. They are leaning into each other’s space, with barely any distance in between. Jaskier’s hand is still wrapped around Geralt’s shoulder, and now Geralt has placed a hand on Jaskier’s knee.

For some reason, the fluttering in Jaskier’s stomach returns. The sensation is such a surprise that he nearly falls out of the chair.

“Geralt…”

“Jaskier, look,” Geralt breathes, lips parting, “I—”

Before he could finish a sentence, they are interrupted by someone coming down the stairs, their footsteps echoing loudly in the tavern. Jaskier snaps his attention away in an instant.

Oh, Andrej is back!

Jaskier lets out a delighted squeal, all thoughts replaced by the barkeep’s warm smile.

“Hold that thought, dear,” Jaskier says absently, patting Geralt on the back. “I should be… going.”

“But I—”

Geralt’s eyes are wide, darting between Andrej and Jaskier.

Jaskier stands up, checking on Geralt again. “Hmm? What is it? Do you still need me here?”

He would stay with Geralt, comforting him for the rest of the night if those old insecurities still plague his friend. A good night with a handsome and kind man will always come second when it comes to Geralt, but…

But, but, but…

Jaskier’s heart is already soaring away.

Luckily, the moment of panic in Geralt’s eyes fades into calm acceptance.

“Nothing,” Geralt says, resigned with a quiet smile. “I don’t need you here, Jaskier. You should go.”

His posture goes slack. It must be the relief after all of Jaskier’s words, all the doubt eased, judging from the way Geralt’s face morphs into an emotionless neutrality. Once again, Jaskier mentally pats himself on the back for having cracked the problem.

He beams at the thought, bending down to press a good night kiss on Geralt’s cheek, who lets out a little gasp, leaning into the chaste kiss.

“Don’t wait up!”

Jaskier winks before turning away, not looking back again. When he takes Andrej’s hand, there’s even a spring in his steps.

Oh, Jaskier should be allowed to feel a little smug, just a little bit. He has had the most wonderful night. On top of seeing right through Geralt’s emotional turmoil, he’s also landed himself a fine companion until morning.

The wonderful night can still get a lot better, he thinks.

[boiling-kettle]

it's really important to me that Moist is just a guy, an average person, and I tried hard to draw him like that

Moist ramblings under the cut

also I'm in love with au where he becomes the patrician (unwillingly and horribly as usual) and changes his golden suit for a sensible grey suit with a golden trim, to show everyone how normal and serious he is

also like imagining him with signs of exhaustion, like bags under his eyes, hair growing out of a neat hairstyle, and stubble

someone will say something like, "Oh, you are trying to grow a beard like Vetinari?" and Moist will be horrified

i love him so much

[magpie-writes]

Venus in Furs

Pairing: Helaena Targaryen x Fem!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Rating: E

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: Targcest, semi-public sex, bondage, pain kink, explicit smut

A/N: Venus in Furs is a poly Helaemond au. We have no idea how many chapters it'll end up being, but the story will progress as the relationship does. Sometimes a chapter might be a little kinky drabble, other times it might be an epic 10k beast. This story has just become such a vulnerable little happy place for @acrossthesestars​ and myself and we hope you enjoy it! Tags will be updated as the chapters go on.

alex masterlist | emma masterlist | ao3

Part One - Seven Hells P.1 | Part Two - Seven Hells P.2 | Part Three

The sky above was clear, stars managing to peek out even from the thick veil of the city lights. It was loud, music blaring from cars and drunk revelers pouring out from the mouths of the surrounding bars and clubs. My heels clicked on the sidewalk, the noise echoing loud over all the others and my hands curled into fists within my coat pockets.

'Don't lose your nerve,' I thought. 'You aren't allowed to chicken out.'

A sharp gust of near freezing wind ruffled my coat, blowing up beneath the short skirt of the black dress I wore under it, and I bit down on my cheek to keep from yelping nervously at the shock as I neared the building I had been looking for.

Seven Hells was a privately owned club, the red brick facade blending into all the others on the block. The only clue that I had arrived at the right place was the small gilded placard by the door that simply read "7" in an ornate script. My chilled fingers wrapped around a thick brass knocker in the shape of a dragon's head, rapping it gently against the wood. The door swung open and a handsome bouncer stared me down, the moment stretching on forever. He was older, with a close cropped silver beard, a bald head, and a thousand yard stare.

"Password," he asked, his voice rich and deep. 

"Oh don't bother with all that, Harrold," a soft voice chirped from behind him. "She's with me. Isn't that right, Lady Grey?"

The door opened a crack wider, revealing a cloud of moon pale hair and the Cheshire Cat grin beneath it. 

“Honestly, you express a tea preference one time.” Rolling my eyes despite the amused smile tugging at my lips, I stepped up onto the landing, close enough for the club’s warm air to twine invitingly around my bare legs, beckoning me inside. With an apologetic shrug to the stoic giant before me, I gave the password Helaena Targaryen texted me earlier that evening. 

“Dreamfyre.” 

He granted me a nod, as if in appreciation of a fellow rule-follower, and threw the door wide. 

“Welcome to Seven Hells.” 

If I'd thought the grandeur of our Neo-Gothic university campus was extravagant, with its ivy-clad walls, peaked windows, and rolling quads beneath venerable oak trees, the sumptuousness of this club delighted in proving me wrong. Stepping down into its shadowy interior, I couldn’t help gaping at the luxury surrounding me. Sleek, black leather couches sprawled along the edges of the cavernous room, all subtly tilted towards a low stage, the obvious focal point of the room. No one graced it, not this early in the evening, but a St. Andrew’s cross stood waiting in the wings, eager for its first victim. It was the most obvious nod towards the club’s hedonistic character but the more I looked, the more secrets I uncovered. 

Steel hardpoints graced walls and furniture, looking like so much industrial hardware until I realized their presence went beyond simple aesthetics. Mirrors littered the walls, affording endless views for performers and pleasure seekers alike. Stacks of silken cord lined low-running shelves, all in easy reach. It was an opulent, unguarded promise of sensuality. 

A dare. 

A shiver of anticipation licked up my spine, despite the warmth winding sinuously around my legs, caressing my chilled skin and urging me eagerly to shed my heavy wool coat.

“Come on. I can’t wait to show you everything.” Helaena seized my hand excitedly while I was still unwinding the glittering gray scarf from around my neck. I shoved it into the pocket of my coat as Harrold quietly lifted the garment from my arms before withdrawing to his post by the door. 

My eyes weren't sure where to land. A pretty brunette winked at me from behind the bar and heat crawled up my throat at the gesture. My gaze darted from the couches to the stage to the people who had just started to trickle into the space before landing on the pale hand that grasped my own. 

Helaena was divine, a gods damned painting, a water nymph come to life. Her white-blonde hair hung in soft waves around her shoulders, her plump body sheathed in a tight powder blue dress, the hem hitting her mid thigh. When she turned back to wink at me, the light caught in the glitter she had painted over her eyelids, her pink mouth curling up at the edges. 

"I love first timers." Her voice was soft, but I still heard every word.

I raised a brow. "Do you bring people here often?"

She squeezed my hand. "No," was all she said as she dragged me to the bar. 

The energy of the club settled around us as I followed my new friend, all simmering possibility and the driving beat of music emanating from hidden speakers. When I slid onto one of the plush velvet barstools, Helaena perched alongside me, never letting go of my hand even as she raised her other to catch the bartender’s gaze. 

“Two of the Wild Gin Brambles please, Talya”

My eyes widened in surprise as she named the exact cocktail I would have ordered from the specials menu. Despite the crowd of people surrounding the bar, jockeying to place their orders, no one looked surprised when, in mere moments, the bartender slid two glasses towards the pair of us.

“How did you guess?”

Helaena only smiled her enigmatic smile and raised her own drink to clink against mine. 

Her violet eyes tracked every movement as I raised the sweating glass to my lips and took my first sip. Flavor bloomed on my tongue, tart and sweet, strong but clear, the blackberry syrup coating my mouth even as the gin traced a cool burn down my throat. 

“That is delicious,” I said, having to raise my voice slightly to be heard over the sound of the other revelers.

“Let me try.”

Rather than lifting her own glass, Helaena leaned in and kissed me. 

Startled, my lips parted on a gasp, but when I moved to cup the other woman’s cheek, she deepened the kiss. Her tongue slid against mine, a swift, gentle taste, and then she pulled back, her gaze searching. 

“What did you think?” My voice was deeper, roughened with the desire already surging in my blood. 

“Delicious,” she confirmed. Her starry eyes roved over my curves and I could swear they came to rest on the hollow of my throat. I wondered if she could see the eager jump of my pulse.

Helaena grinned when she recognized her stare was bordering on overwhelming, glancing down into the depths of her drink and taking a sip. I looked up, willing away the heat that had settled almost uncomfortably in my cheeks. My gaze settled on the mirror, a flash of silver catching my attention. From across the room, mismatched eyes pinned me like a butterfly to glass. The set of his full mouth was almost stern, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. My heart hammered against my ribs but when I blinked, he was gone. 

A wide smile broke over Helaena's face. Whatever had grabbed her attention lit her up from the inside out, a soft warm glow settling beneath her skin like a beacon. I turned and couldn't stop the soft "oh" that fell from my lips.

If Helaena was divine, then Aemond Targaryen was damned. He was her soul's twin and yet her opposite, hard and lean where she was soft and curved. He prowled toward the pair of us with all the violent grace of a predator stalking prey, the top half of his long white hair pulled away from his face, the rest hanging down his back like a curtain. He wore all black, a button down shirt tucked into fitted slacks. His face was hard, unreadable except for the flame in his left eye, the same shade of violet as his sister's. In place of his right eye, lost in some accident at the hand of his nephew, if rumor was to be believed, sat a sapphire, the facets swallowing up the low red lights of the club's interior. Helaena squealed and clapped her hands at his arrival, reaching for him. Aemond took her hand, pulling her close and bringing it to his mouth, his lips soft against her skin as he hummed in greeting. 

"I'm surprised she came," he said by way of acknowledgement, his gaze falling finally on me.

Heat bristled up my spine, righteous indignation at being referred to as if I was of no importance.

"Play nice or Lady Grey won't come at all and where's the fun in that?" Helaena replied, poking at Aemond's middle.

Something tensed in my gut at that easy, playful gesture. A reminder of how these two belonged to each other, pale and strange as binary stars and just as entangled. How could I ever hope to join their orbit? 

As if sensing that momentary flicker of doubt, Aemond raised one perfectly sculpted brow with all the cool poise of a marble god as if to ask “How indeed?” I bristled, drawing myself up to my full height, my spine set like steel. Damn him and his smug self-assurance. Helaena had approached me after all, invited me to join them in their pleasure den I’d only heard whispered about on campus, with all the dark, half-veiled insinuations that accompanied such an invitation. 

“You tell him, Hel.” I slid my arms around her waist, glaring a challenge of my own at Aemond over her shoulder. “She was just wondering if there might be any dancing on tap for the evening, or is that too frivolous for the Eyes Wide Shut crowd?”

Aemond’s mouth twitched. 

“Oh, I’m sure we could manage something.” 

In the end, all it took was an imperious nod and his sharp gaze to some nearby staff member, and then the music shifted, turning to a low, throbbing beat that pulsed through the crowd. People moved as if summoned to the dance floor, a tangled knot of writhing bodies and reaching limbs. Aemond sketched a half-mocking, half charmingly outdated bow and extended a hand to me. 

“Would she like to dance?” This time, the slyly intentional word choice felt less like a slight and more like an almost-apology, an unspoken admission of having chosen his words poorly. For the first time, I noticed how stiff his posture was. Maybe I wasn’t the only one unsure of how to navigate this evening.

I inclined my own head, amused despite myself, and said “She would.” 

It was easy enough to follow him to the dance floor, Helaena close at his heels. Aemond spun me once before drawing me close, his hand finding the small of my back. "Dance, then," he said in an amused tone, his gaze raking over my body. I narrowed my eyes as he just stood there, trying to get a feel for whatever game he was playing. It was Helaena who rescued me, her hands finding mine and pulling me further from the edge of the dance floor. 

She moved with a liquid sort of grace, the sort that left one utterly entranced. It was impossible not to move toward her, caught in her orbit as if she were the brightest star in the dark sky. Her lavender eyes were bright enough to light up the dance floor as her hands settled on my hips, turning my back to her front before pulling me flush against her. She smelled like violets and lilies and something earthier, something you would find in the forest after it rained. I wondered if later I would be covered in the body glitter she'd dusted all over herself, her skin shimmering in the glow.

"Can I touch you?" She asked, her voice low against my ear. 

There was literally nothing I wanted more in that moment.

I nodded and she ran a hand up my throat to grasp at my jaw, tilting my head back until she could catch my mouth with her own. She tasted like gin and sweet lip gloss, strawberry maybe. My hips followed whatever sinuous rhythm she set as she curled her tongue around mine. I felt her smile against my lips and couldn't stop myself from mirroring the gesture. With one hand I reached back, carding my fingers through the moonlight strands at the nape of her neck. 

One song melted into two and then three and I learned for a fact what I had already had an idea of: Helaena Targaryen was entirely captivating. She radiated a dreaminess, a sort of unexplainable out there feeling that I couldn't put my finger on but I knew I wanted to sink into. There was also an edge. She had teeth and claws and made a conscious choice to keep them sheathed. At some point I had turned back to face her and she smiled wide again, as if she had never considered not being so open, so real. Then her eyes drifted away, lighting up again when they landed on her brother. I looked too, because I couldn't help it. Aemond had taken up a perch on one of the large leather chairs, more of a loveseat, really. When our eyes met he raised his left hand and beckoned us forward with a crooked finger. Helaena drifted toward him as if pulled by gravity, her hand reaching back for mine and pulling me along after her. 

I mirrored her movements, lowering myself onto Aemond’s outstretched right thigh while she claimed his left. When I did, his gaze snapped to mine, startled. The intensity there, the banked violet fire, ripped through me like a summer storm, leaving heat and electricity crackling in its wake. Before I could shift my weight or draw back, before I could even form an apology for overreaching, he caught me around the waist to keep me still. Slowly, deliberately, curiously, he flexed his muscled thigh beneath my legs, shifting it just enough to drag against me and make me gasp. Pleasure kindled in his hawklike stare and I smiled, heat rising in my cheeks. 

We’d surprised each other. 

Helaena tipped her head back and laughed, her carefree delight so infectious even her brother’s lips quirked into something like a smile. Pure, wild joy beat like wings within my chest when her lavender gaze met mine at the same time that Aemond rested a hand on my thigh. As if some hidden key had turned, the tumblers falling into place, everything slid open, the night suddenly wide open and brimming with potential. Something was happening and we were part of it. We were all of it. 

The music fell away. All I could hear was the breath catching in Helaena’s throat when I leaned in and kissed her. The hiss Aemond sucked between his teeth when his sister’s hand slid up to cup my breast. I looked around, expecting shock or censure, but while the warmth of her palm moving over my dress made my heart race as if the world was ending, no one else seemed to even notice. Even so, I pulled back, heat flashing up my throat to settle in my cheeks. Aemond's hand tightened where it rested against my thigh and I turned to face him, my eyes downcast. He raised a hand, his forefinger catching me under the chin until I met his eye. 

"There's no need to be shy, Grey." The nickname sounded different in his mouth, sharper somehow, then when Helaena said it. "You're free to take what you want here, without judgment." 

My gaze darted between his mismatched eyes and his lips. "What do you want?" My voice was small. 

He hummed, a low noise in the back of his throat, before using his hand to tug me farther up his thigh, my hands flattening against his chest as I fell forward. His shirt was warm beneath my palms, soft and obviously expensive. And then he kissed me. It wasn't tentative or gentle. It felt as if he would devour me. Where Helaena took her time, sensuous and explorative, Aemond went straight for the kill, licking into my mouth when it opened on a whine, pulling my bottom lips between his teeth. He broke the kiss and looked up at me, his high cheekbones dusted with pink, and pursed his lips, as if he was hiding a grin. I couldn't help it and smiled back.

Helaena ran a hand up my thigh, squeezing just enough to get my attention and jerking her chin toward the stage in front of us. "The show is starting," she whispered. There was a peculiar happiness in her eyes, a sort of feeling I wasn't sure I'd ever experienced. She leaned back into Aemond's chest, his hand circling her waist to rest over her belly. The way they fell into each other was mesmerizing and I wondered if I'd ever felt that sort of easy acceptance before, the sort of muscle memory that had me sinking into someone else's softest parts. 

I turned away, suddenly feeling much too raw, and looked toward the stage as the lights lowered, a single spotlight shining bright in the middle. Lying prone on the ground was a slight brunette, her hair tied up in a bun. She wore a rose pink dress, the fabric sheer enough to see the dusky outline of her nipples, her arms laying relaxed over her head. As she slowly woke, blinking away the sleep, the light softened, mimicking the dawn, and soft music played through the hidden speakers. Fingertips drew mindless designs over the bare skin of my thigh and the feeling left me burning as they drew over my hip and up, up, up my back to massage the nape of my neck. The feeling was near sinful, my eyes closing as Aemond worked out the tension. When I risked a downward glance, I found his eyes on the stage, his face infuriatingly neutral. I raised my hand, placing it back against his chest, playing at the top button of his shirt as I glanced back toward the stage.

From the shadows of the audience on the far side, a hulking shape melted through the crowd, lumbering up the two wide steps before crouching behind a makeshift barrier, watching the young woman on stage sit up and stretch. Helaena reached forward from her perch and placed her hand on my knee, her skin warm against mine, grounding me in the moment as the man in the mask began creeping closer toward the girl on stage. A Beast on the way to claim his Beauty, I realized with a thrill.

“Is it always fairytale-based?” I whispered the question into Helaena’s ear, so close my lips brushed against her delicate skin. 

“No,” she shook her head, answering in the same respectful hush. “They do all sorts of things - exhibitions, demonstrations. But this seemed more… you.” 

Before I could ask what she meant, Aemond’s broad hand tightened around my neck.

“Pay attention,” he commanded in a low, firm voice behind my ear, turning my head back to face the stage. From Helaena’s guilty start and the way she also turned her attention back to the scene unfolding before us, I guessed he’d given her a similar reminder. Normally I would have bristled against his domineering tone, but it sent a shiver down my spine instead, making me feel as deliciously helpless as the beauty the beast prowled towards. As if he knew, Aemond trailed the tips of his fingers down my neck and between my shoulder blades. 

The task of watching the stage while he teased me like this felt Herculean, but I managed to keep my eyes on the performers, watching as the girl on stage finally registered the presence of the beast. Her brown eyes blew wide as he loomed over her and the two engaged in what could only be considered a dance. Their chemistry was a wild thing, crackling between them as they pushed and pulled, as she ran and he gave chase. The Beast reached for her, catching the pale pink ribbon that held her hair tied up, and it cascaded down her back just as he caught her, pulling her against his chest.

As his lips found her neck and his hands drew her skirt farther up her thighs, Aemond's fingers dipped below the hem of my dress. The touch itself wasn't indecent, was hardly anything more than innocent, but every nerve ending in my body lit up. He shifted his thigh beneath me, riding my dress higher, just as the beast shed the girl of her dress, her body now bare beneath the spotlight, and I fought the urge to reach back and pinch him for teasing me. But I was riveted by the performance as the actress finally gave in to the beast, succumbing to him and letting him lay her out over the stage, her back arched as he wedged himself between her thighs and devoured her.

Aemond's hand slid further beneath my dress and I couldn't stop the hitch of my breath. I knew, logically, that no one was watching us, too engaged by what was happening on stage, or what they were up to in their own seats, but my cheeks still heated at the idea, at the clandestine nature of letting this practical stranger slide his skilled fingers beneath the damp fabric of my underwear. I bit back a moan as he did just that, parting my folds, teasing at the wetness he found there. I wanted to roll my hips, to chase the pleasure his touch promised. But I stayed still, afraid to call any attention to us. 

In front of me, the Beast lay on his back, the girl, his Beauty, now straddling his hips, her face flushed from her earlier release on his tongue. She rode him, claimed him just as earnestly as he had claimed her, taking her agency and making him hers. They moaned in tandem, not the sort of practiced sounds I had heard in porn or made with partners I was more than eager to get out from under, but something more feral, more honest. As the Beast reached forward to clutch at her breasts, Aemond pinched lightly at my thigh, a hint to open my legs wider. I gave in, just an inch, and was rewarded with a lazy circle against my clit. All I wanted was to drop my weight back against him, to spread my thighs farther and see what his wicked touch could wring from me. But even as I saw other patrons doing exactly that, I knew I couldn't, knew I wouldn't.

This entire night had been totally unlike me. Taking Helaena up on the invitation had left me filled with nerves. We'd spoken often enough at school and I desperately wanted to call her my friend. She was impossible not to adore, and denying her anything felt wrong. We'd flirted and when I finally gathered the courage to ask her for her number, she'd slapped me right in the face with an invite to the most exclusive club in town. How could I say no? Especially when she mentioned the more mysterious of her brothers would be there too. 

The Beast had planted his feet on the stage, his hands gripping bruises against his Beauty, driving himself up into her. Her face bunched with pleasure as she fell forward, her hands landing on his chest to brace herself as he fucked her roughly. I felt my pulse quicken, my lungs constricting as Aemond slid a finger inside me, and then another. I couldn't stop myself, arching my back slightly to grind down against his hand. His fingers were long, slender and graceful. They felt divine inside of me and I knew it wouldn't be long until he worked me up and over that peak, the muscles of my thighs already twitching with it. 

Suddenly Beauty came with a low groan, the blood rushing up her neck to settle in her cheeks as the Beast beneath her roared his own end, their bodies going rigid. She had thrown her hands above her head in a jubilant gesture as the Beast spilled inside her, as if unafraid for anyone, everyone, to see her pleasure. Then the music died and for a moment the room was silent except for the sound of ragged breathing. I couldn't figure out where one breath started and the next began, which was mine or Helaena's or even Aemond's. The spotlight went dark and the melancholy instrumental music that had accompanied the performance melted back into the low, heavy bass from earlier. 

Aemond's hand was out from under my dress before the lights returned to normal. I hissed at the loss of him, canting forward as if seeking him out. The neediness of the gesture left me feeling more than a little pathetic, especially as he growled, "on your feet." But his voice was strained, rough even, and that gave me more than enough satisfaction. I blinked up at him, my mind hazy and buzzing after being yanked so abruptly from what had promised to be a wild sort of release. Helaena stood first and offered me a hand, pulling me up on shaking baby deer legs. She just smiled like she knew and reached up to tug at the ends of my hair. 

The crowd blurred around us as we moved past the stage, past the bar, and deeper into the club. I looked down, startled, when the click of my heels against the polished wood floors turned muffled, my footsteps suddenly cushioned by plush carpeting. We were in a hallway, the walls paneled in rich, dark wood, an expanse of wealth relieved only by a series of doors, each one different from the last. One a rich, blood red with golden accents, another gunmetal stark but littered with peepholes, the third a shockingly clear plate glass. I caught a glimpse of twining limbs and chains within and finally realized where we were headed. 

“Why a private room? I thought the whole point of this place was taking what we wanted and no one caring?” 

“I don’t like anyone seeing what’s mine.” Aemond turned to me, one arm around his sister’s waist. My heart thundered as his gaze pinned me to the emerald green door we’d stopped in front of. Helaena leant back against him, a look of feline contentment on her features as she gazed at me through hooded eyes. 

“What did you want when you came here, Lady Grey?” It wasn’t so much a question as a gentle prompting, an invitation to voice the desire that had drawn me to them like a moth to a bonfire ever since that first time I’d seen them on campus. They’d looked so out of place they might as well have been another species. Two fae royals slumming it with mortals for their own amusement, sampling whatever pleasures they wished to indulge in, and tempting the rest of us with wicked delights if only we’d be bold enough to seek them. 

I ached to be bold.

“You,” I breathed. “Both of you.” 

“Yes, that was it.” Helaena tipped her head up to meet Aemond’s gaze and said “See?”

“Hm.” 

Before I could worry that I was failing some unspoken test he leaned in with that sleek, predatory grace and twisted the door knob by my hip. 

“After you,” he purred. 

Part Two

[thatwriterchick222]

coffee (joel miller x f/reader)

summary: “What are you drinking?” Ellie asked quietly, leaning on the railing of the deck. Joel had a steaming cup of something in his hands.

“Coffee.” He walked up beside her, leaning on the railing and mirroring her.

Ellie looked at him, confused. “Where’d you get that?”

“Uh, those people that came through last week.” Joel chuckled.

“Oh.”

Joel rocked back and forth on his heels. “A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it, but…” He raised the mug, about to take a sip.“It’s not bad.”

a/n: today we finally learn the truth... what DID joel have to trade to get his beloved bag of beans??? read ahead to find out ;)))

-------------

You and your group were passing through the small settlement in Jackson, Wyoming. Your leader had mentioned it a few times, since he was familiar with Tommy Miller, the man who founded the small town with his wife, Maria.

The group had lots of supplies, and so did yours, so your group figured you could pass through and stay for a few days since they had allowed it before. Everyone would do some trading, and you would get to sleep in a warm bed for once…

When you all arrived, you were in awe of the state of the place. Lights that hung from old telephone poles illuminated the snow-covered streets in a warm yellow glow, and kids ran around playing tag, weaving between the various civilians huddled by the fire pits.

Your shoulders ached, the backpack you were carrying was filled with nothing but food, seeds, and a large bag of coffee beans. 

One thing about your group was that you were always stocked in food and natural resources since you mostly lived off the land, and the Jackson group was stocked in weapons and supplies, something you had very little of.

When you were invited to one of their weekly dance-potluck-party events, you were frankly nervous as hell. You hadn’t been to something like this since before the outbreak, and large groups had become a rarity unless you were all fighting for your lives.

You had been given a room in a large house and took a long shower, the feeling of the hot water making you tear up. You missed it.

You arrived slightly late since you were pulled aside by a few people wanting to trade with you, weapon parts for seeds, and the like. One person had asked for your bag of coffee beans, but you were hesitant to give them over just for a few bullets.

When you got in, you immediately went straight to the bar. The lively crowd inside was already whittling a hole in your chest, and anxiety bubbled in your stomach as you walked around the dance floor. People laughed, clinked glasses, hugged… it was just like the old world. 

Only it wasn’t the old world, and the way that these people smiled and partied like there weren’t infected all around them outside these walls had you on edge. How did they do it? Is that what living in a place like this did? Did it make you ignorant?

You took a long sip of the beer you ordered and got the sudden urge to get out. It was all too much. The loud music, the bright lights… 

As you turned, you crashed into someone.

“Shit! Sorry!” You exclaimed, pulling back and immediately looking up at the tall figure. He was leaning on the bar and seemed to barely even notice you crashing into him because he was so large.

“It’s okay.” He said, smiling at you, his gaze soft. You swallowed, looking at the man, his hair grey, a stubbly beard on his face. He looked to be in his mid-fifties. Not that you were complaining. 

You leaned on the bar beside him. He had a whiskey in his hand. 

“I don’t recognize you…” He trailed off, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“My group and I are passing through.” You smiled nervously, taking a sip of beer. “Tommy likes to trade with us.”

The man put his whiskey down and stuck his hand out to me. You noticed the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing a long vein in his forearm. He was also wearing a watch, but the glass face was cracked and it seemed to be stuck in time. 

“I’m Joel.” He said, and you grabbed his hand, shaking it slowly. “Tommy’s my brother.”

“Oh!” You laughed softly. “I’m Y/N.”

You held onto each other’s hands for a beat longer than normal, his palm warm against yours. You pulled away, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you looked down. 

One thing about living in a world like this… was that human affection was hard to come by. Attractive men, even more so.

You swallowed, and Joel cleared his throat, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Sorry… I– I don’t often find myself talkin’ to beautiful women. I don’t quite know what to say.”

You felt your stomach swirl and looked up at him through the corner of your eye. “Who, me?” 

To be quite honest, you were surprised he found you beautiful. Not because you hated yourself, but because you hadn’t thought about your looks in so long. You learned to forget about those things since they didn’t matter. A pretty face didn’t keep you alive. 

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “I’m glad you bumped into me.”

You laughed, turning to him. Something about him felt extremely warm. Despite his nervousness and guarded exterior, you were drawn to him. It wasn’t every day you got a compliment from an older man. Was he probably way too old for you? Yes. Did you care? No. Life was short, and you were only here for a few days...

continue on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53698717

[sad-chaos-goblin]

Wrote a ficlet inspired by a conversation @ineffabildaddy and I had about Bearded Supreme Archangel Aziraphale. Thank you sooo much Sam for your input and making writing this silly thing extra fun! <3

The second coming has been averted, Heaven and the Metatron have been dealt with and our demon and angel are reunited. Apologies have been made, they're back in the bookshop. Crowley plans to finally take Aziraphale to enjoy a very alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz, but it seems like they might get sidetracked. 

“Mrrhm really angel, you’re fixing that again? Looks jus’ fine.” grumbles Crowley. He’s draped on the armchair, watching Aziraphale fussily rearrange his already neat bowtie.

Aziraphale purses his lips. “I am not going to the Ritz looking sloppy, I have standards.”

Crowley chuckles. “What ‘bout that beard and messy hair back in Heaven then? Not the most polished look, wass it?” he teases.

Aziraphale sighs fretfully. “I can’t believe I allowed myself to look so scruffy. Quite unacceptable.”

Crowley’s mind wanders, remembering how shockingly different Aziraphale had looked when he’d become Supreme Archangel. The wild curls, the slightly scruffy beard, the exhaustion so apparent on the face that used to be bright and cheerful, those usually sparkly eyes looking dull and bleary. He feels a stab of sorrow as he remembers. But intermingled with that sorrow are other feelings. The way his heart had raced when he’d imagined running his fingers through those long, untidy curls. The way he’d catch himself wondering how that beard would feel against his skin. He shifted in the armchair, feeling a rush of warmth tug inside him.

“Well angel, it’s not like it was a bad look. In fact, if you ever want to grow it back for a while, that would be…” he waves a hand trying - and failing - to look nonchalant. “…that would be fine… with me”. The last two words come out strained and a tad squeaky.

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Oh, so you would like me to grow it back?” he says, cheekily.

“Well, mhh, if you want.” he says, breaking eye contact because he suddenly feels like he might explode if he keeps looking at the angel.

Aziraphale walks toward Crowley and leans forward, placing his hands on the armrests of the chair, bringing his face close to the demon’s.

His voice drops an octave. “I will, if you tell me that you want it”.

Crowley swallows hard. It’s a good thing he’s seated because he doubts his knees could hold him up right now. “Ngk. Yes, I want it” he rasps, barely managing to choke out the words.

Aziraphale’s mouth slightly quirks upwards. “As you wish, my dear”, his voice still low and commanding. He snaps his fingers and immediately the beard is back, and his hair is longer, messy curls falling on his forehead.

Crowley vaguely realises his hands are tightly clenched into fists. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest. His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes taking in the way the angel’s messy curls fall around his sparkling blue eyes, the way his soft lips look even softer framed by the silvery grey beard.

Aziraphale reaches a hand up to cup the demon’s neck and runs his thumb along his cheekbone. “What else do you want right now, Crowley?” he asks, voice gravelly and seductive.

Crowley feels like he’s caught on fire. He can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone think of anything clever or flirtatious to say. “Ngk. I… you, I want you, angel.”

Aziraphale smiles. He moves even closer, their noses touching. “I think we might need to reschedule the Ritz.” he whispers as he gently pulls Crowley into a slow, indulgent kiss.