#I also hate that thing about never asking a woman her age

[social-cocoon]

Last reblog reminded me of when I worked at Best Buy and all female customers were called young ladies no matter their age while men were hardly ever called young anything and it really bothered me

[sherlock-is-ace]

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[ccsainzleclerc5516]

You Made A Mess Of Me

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warnings: mentions of sexual activities, angst, but happy ending. I actually love this sm I'm in my Lewis era and I can't stop myself

The penultimate weekend in June meant only one thing, the Spanish GP. You've been thinking for days whether you should go, after all, too much time has passed since the last time.

You knew that your coming there would cause a huge public reaction and that some people might not be happy to see you, but you couldn't resist. Your curiosity was stronger than you and something you could never fight against.

The last time you attended the GP, you were in a slightly different role than you were now, some would say more important role. That was 2 years ago when you were reputed to be the most popular wag in the paddock. Lewis Hamilton's girlfriend. His greatest support and the woman who he dedicated every victory to.

To Lewis, you were the woman he loved more than life, his everything and more. He proudly presented you to everyone, always mentioned you in interviews, saying that you were his strength and motivation for all his success. When you couldn't attend his races, he was always in a hurry to come back to you, holding you like a drop of water in the palm of his hand.

His love for you could not be described in words. You were the "it couple". Lewis made it well known to everyone that you were his. He really was madly in love with you.

You loved him too. He taught you what love means, he taught you how to love, showed you what love really is. You felt safe next to him and you knew that with him you had everything a woman could want. When you cheered him on at the races, you were the loudest, his most faithful cheerleader who experienced every victory and every defeat together with him.

Everything was perfect until one day when Lewis started hinting that he wanted to take your relationship one step further. Given that you were 25 at the time and he was 37, you knew that he was at the age when he wanted a family and children and he let you know that he wanted that with you.

You panicked, inexplicable anxiety gripped you, you weren't ready to "grow up" completely. You loved him very much, but you also loved yourself and that's why you didn't wanna settle for something you weren't ready for.

You felt that you still wanted to develop yourself as a person before marrying someone, you still wanted to travel with your friends, have fun, enjoy life and youth. You knew you didn't want marriage then, but you also didn't want to make Lewis wait for you and suffer in some way. You wanted him to be happy and achieve everything he wanted, even if it wasn't with you.

And so your perfect three-year relationship came to an end. You moved to Spain, disappeared from Lewis's life overnight and he never heard from you again. Despite his best efforts to reach you and find you, he couldn't. You left him completely heartbroken, desperate, lost, he just wasn't the man he used to be. His world has changed since you left his life.

Later, all the pain and hurt he carried inside him turned into immense anger and rage towards you. You even thought he started to hate you. You knew about it because you heard that in one interview he said, when he was asked about y/n, that that name no longer exists for him.

That's why now that you were invited by Tommy Hilfiger as a special guest to the Spanish GP, you doubted whether it was wise to go.

You didn't really care about the public's reaction, but you were a little afraid of Lewis's reaction. You were afraid to see the contempt in his eyes for you. But still, above all, you were a determined, smart and self-confident girl who knew her values ​​and knew what she wanted. And that's why you accepted the invitation.

Everyone's jaws dropped to the floor when you stepped into the paddock wearing black sunglasses in a tight strapless black dress that perfectly accentuated your curves. You caught everyone's eyes.

As well as the eyes of a man who could not forget you.

"Lewis, I don't wanna upset you before the race, but..she's here." Bono said quietly.

"Who is here?" He asked cluelessly with furrowed eyebrows.

"I-I.." Bono stammered.

"Bono, who is here?"

"Y/n..She's in George's garage."

Lewis froze. His heart dropped and legs buckled when Bono said your name. He thought someone was playing a joke on him, so after a minute of standing still without blinking and the initial shock, he had to go see for himself what he heard.

"Lewis, I don't think it's a good idea to-" Bono tried to stop him, but there was no point in trying to do that. Lewis didn't think for a second, he just sprinted towards his teammate's garage, his racing suit half unbuttoned hanging behind him. He had to see you with his own eyes to believe that you were actually there.

The moment he ran into the garage and saw you there, at first he couldn't believe his eyes, but when you took off your glasses and looked at him, everything came back to him in a second, all the memories, but also the anger.

Your legs went numb as well, your heart fluttered, but you didn't dare to approach him or say anything. The whole room fell silent as the two of you looked at each other. Everyone knew about the two of you and there was an awkward silence that was broken by Lewis himself when he left after half a minute of standing still.

It was minutes before Lewis was supposed to get into the car and he barely recovered from seeing you. He couldn't think straight, and the race was about to start. You here, was the last thing he needed.

At first he couldn't focus, all he thought about was you, but somehow he managed to shift his thoughts to the anger and rage he felt towards you and it woke up that beast in him that he was on the track and after a long long time Lewis finished as the winner of the race. And all thanks to you, although not because he was happy that you were there, but because he decided to take out his anger on the track.

You followed the race with folded hands hoping for the best result from Lewis and when you saw that he finished P1, you didn't show it too much, but there was no an end to your happiness. Your eyes watered and you proudly watched him celebrate. For a moment everything was like before, only in reality, nothing was like before.

In the evening you decided to go out with your friends and of course there were also F1 drivers in that same club, among them Lewis of course, who were celebrating his victory.

You wanted to, but you didn't approach him. You decided to have fun with your friends, you danced and basically acted like he wasn't even there even though you could feel his eyes on you the whole night following who was around you. And since this was Lewis' night he had too much to drink and decided to approach you himself the first moment he saw you headed for the toilet.

Before you stepped into the toilet, you felt a strong grip on your arm pulling you out. You turned around only to see Lewis' bloodshot eyes staring at you.

"Lewis? W-what are you doing?" You stammered.

"You better go outside with me if you don't want me to make a scene here in front of everyone." He said sternly through clenched teeth and that's why you decided not to resist. Attracting bad attention was the last thing you needed.

Of course all eyes were on the two of you as Lewis dragged you out of the club, you just couldn't avoid it. Once you stepped out he took you to the place behind the club where there were the fewest people.

"Did you come today to mess with my head or what?" He spat out.

"I was there on business, not because I wanted to" You half lied.

"Please" He scoffed. "How dare you show up after two years and just before the start of the race? How dare you play with my head like that?" He asked what you were most afraid of before coming.

You gulped before starting a sentence, but he cut you off "I-"

"You fucking put me through hell and back when you left and then one day you just decided to come as a guest out of nowhere?"

"Lewis, I-"

"And then you went out knowing that I'll be there, and you decide to dance and have fun with other guys in front of me as if I wasn't there? You have no fucking shame!" He growled. You understood his anger and it hurt you, it almost made you cry, but you knew this was the alcohol in his system talking.

"As far as I remember, we have not been together for two years" You say fighting to keep your voice from cracking.

"Oh yeah, and about that. Do you feel good knowing that you killed me when you left?" He asks. "You fucking disappeared for your own selfish reasons. Do you know what you did to me when you left my life? You fucking ruined me, y/n!" He screamed in your face and it hurt like hell. "How could you do that to me? I was ready to give you everything, I would've taken the stars out of the sky if you had asked me to, and you did what? You fucking left!"

"I am very well aware of what I did and why. You have no idea how hard it was for me to make that decision, but I wasn't ready to give you what you wanted."

"Yeah, you weren't ready because you still wanted to fuck other guys right?" He insulted, but you couldn't let him talk like that about you because that was far from the truth.

"Don't talk to me like that!" You threatened.

"And why not? Because the truth hurts you? Do you even realize that you were everything to me? I was ready to give it all for you, fuck, I lived for you, y/n! We had a perfect relationship, the kind of that many dreamed of and you ruined it all!"

"I knew what you wanted and I wasn't ready to give you that, Lewis! I was too young and I didn't want to make you wait because I saw in your eyes how much you wanted it!" You couldn't take it anymore. You broke into tears right in front of him. "I didn't leave because I stopped loving you, but quite the opposite because I loved you too much to deny you what you want"

"But I wanted it with you, fuck!!" He screamed clutching his head. "If you weren't ready then, I would have waited for you because I didn't want a family with anyone but you! But you didn't even let me explain it to you because you disappeared from the face of the earth!" He spoke breathlessly.

"I'm sorry..I don't know what else to tell you. Hurting you was the worst thing I could do, I realize that." You cried.

He stepped closer to you and put his cupped your cheeks. "I fucking lived for you, y/n, and you made me a mess of a man" He almost sobbed.

"I suffered too, don't think I didn't. Leaving you was the hardest decision I ever had to make."

"And yet you still did. Getting over you was by far the hardest thing ever. I'm Lewis fucking Hamilton. It's not in my mentality to break down over someone that much and let it completely take over my life and yet you managed to do that to me" He allowed his emotions to overwhelm him and now he was crying too while leaning his forehead against yours. "Please, leave. I don't ever wanna see you again."

His words broke you all over again although you could've expected it, somehow you hoped it wouldn't come to that. He released you from his grip, wiped his tears, composed himself and walked back to the club leaving you outside completely broken and in tears.

You had no choice but to go to the hotel where you were staying at. You didn't feel like having fun or anything anymore, you just wanted to get away from everything and cry your heart out in the silence of your room.

You cried quietly in the taxi all the way to the hotel then you continued in your room. It was already 3 in the morning when you found the strength to take off your makeup and lie down in bed.

All you could think about was did you really make such a mistake by leaving Lewis? You knew you hurt him, but you had no idea to what extent. You lay down in bed and prayed to God to take all your pain away because it was unbearable. The fact that it was your fault hurt even more.

After you left and Lewis returned to the club, he continued to drink and think of you. He knew you left crying and despite everything you did, knowing you were in pain made him hurt even more.

Lewis being Lewis, he found his sources and forced them to tell him which hotel you were staying at. He couldn't help himself, he needed to see you. After all, you were the love of his life. He knew there was no one else for him except for you and that's why he headed towards your hotel and after many threats at the reception he finally got your room number.

You weren't sleeping, you were lying and looking at the ceiling when you heard knocking on your door. At first you were scared, but approached the door anyway asking who it was.

"It's me. Open the door." Lewis said leaning his forehead against the door.

You opened the door not expecting him at all. You couldn't believe he was right there in front of you. You didn't know how he got to you, but at that moment you didn't even care. All you cared about was that he was there.

"Lewis?" You asked quietly as you opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

"To be completely honest, I have no fucking idea." He spoke. "I knew you left crying, and even though you didn't deserve it, I couldn't take it." He stepped in closing the door behind him. You smiled softly through your tears and he moved closer until your back touched the wall behind you.

"I'm here because I still can't wrap my head around the fact that you're not mine" He said.

"If only you knew how much I'm still yours, Lewis"

"Well, unfortunately I don't know, because you haven't done anything for two years to show me that" He slurred putting your cheeks between his hands once again. "But I do know that you're gonna be the death of me" You squeezed your eyes shut at his words.

"Tell me if you have ever found someone who loved you more than me?" He asked.

"I haven't.." There was no point in lying to him. "I wasn't even looking for someone"

"Yeah you didn't and you know why? Because that's not fucking possible." He stated. "Nor have I found anyone who made me feel the things I felt with you. Remember how I always used to hold you close to me while I was fucking you? How I made you look me in the eyes when you were about to cum? How I used to hug your shaking body and press my head against your chest to feel your heartbeat? Do you?"

"I do." You nodded squeezing your thighs a little. Even though you were hurting you couldn't help but get turned on by the things he was saying. Your relationship was full of passion and the sex was the best you ever had. You missed it, you have to admit.

"I can't even call it fucking because I was making love to you." His lips were only inches away from yours and all your attention was focused on them. Your eyes begged him to kiss you.

"I thought I was over you and I could live without you, but then you came back into my life and you messed with my mind once again. You can't do that shit anymore, y/n" He said moving his hands from your face down to your hips tightly gripping them.

"You don't have to live without me anymore because I swear I'm ready to give you everything I couldn't before." You say wrapping your arms around his neck. "I was so wrong, Lew. I miss you. I miss your touch, I miss what we had"

He didn't say anything but finally connected his lips with yours. He kissed you so passionately, so eagerly it brought life back to both of you. He gripped your butt and made you jump up wrapping your arms around his torso. Without breaking the kiss he led you towards the bed gently lying you down, him being on top of you.

"Please, don't make me regret this" He said exhaling in short breaths.

"I'm yours, baby. I've always been." You said breathlessly. "It’s just the two of us I promise..”

[bestlilithian]

The lilithian experience (lilith dominant chart)

Personal experiences w having heavy lilith influence

- Older people being creepy subtly or overtly, but usually subtly with certain looks or touches or comments, especially strangers in public or distant family friends

- Being told Im scary or intimidating, or that I look mean (a girl once told me she thought I wouldnt want to hang out w her and her friends because I looked 'too pretty and kinda mean') [this is esp w lilith/asc harsh aspects]

- Lilith square asc culture is walking into a room a little pissed or in a hurry and everyone shutting up (also works for mars/pluto)

- Now Ive never heard anyone else talking about this but as a lilithian woman Ive always been disgusted by the idea of having sex with a man because in our culture a woman who has sex w a man is seen as having been dominated and degraded by him ("I fucked her" "I hit that" "I scored") also the act itself is very power struggle-ish like no *I* want to bend over a man and make him suck *my* dick

- Being hyperaware of people looking at you (even if youre dressed extremely modestly or without makeup)

- Lilith/moon aspects 🤝 your mom making inappropriate comments about you and your body

- Lilith/sun aspects 🤝 your father insulting you or making weird comments (more subtle w soft aspects so you might brush it off but its still not okay girl)

- People thinking youre flirting with them or others (esp men) but youre just hot and talking, and you cant help that ppl have strong reactions to anything you say really

- Loving eye contact <3 (w the right people)

- Lilith square saturn culture is not being afraid to stand up to authority <3 and having to quite often because they have a pick on you and try to tear you down

- also w lilith square/opposite saturn grown ass adults will have beef w you when youre a kid, esp those w authority over you like teachers, coaches etc

- Lilith/asc harsh aspects and overthinking whether a fit is too revealing or not (because you dont want to get harassed and looked at again) (but then youll grt harassed even if you go out in a priests suit so 🤩)

- People (esp men) trying to use you for sex

- Always being the one guys want to be friends w benefits with while theyre crushing on another girl

- "I dont like what you do to me" - most men Ive interacted with for a while

- A guy told me he liked me for who I am but he couldnt stand "the effect I have on him"

- lilith in 4th house culture is attracting men w mommy issues and being looked at by guys in relationships

- lilith/mercury and needing to know all your friends bdsm test results

- People liking when youre mean 2 them

- People who hate you often want to have sex w you

- Ive had so many guys in my class literally have to gather up courage to talk 2 me, even for basic things like asking me to help w something, they approach me looking all tense and worked up like Ill slice their head off for asking me to help them with their math lmao

- A classmate (and friend, apparently) of my friend once didnt want to come out and meet me when I went to my friends school to give her something because she thought Id beat her up (for context I found out she said some nasty things to my friend and was not happy about it)

- Being told by ppl (esp men) that I remind them of characters who are villains

- People esp girls not liking me for no reason or being rude

- Guys in relationships being extremely cold and rude to me or even shittalking me to their gfs (you can guess why)

- People trying to 'put you in your place'

- Recognizing other lilithians immediately

- Being insecure about your private parts, your body in general and your appearance

- Sex obsession since a young age

- Sexual harassment unfortunately

[ghouldump]

more loustat x chill/unbothered/oblivious fem reader PLEASE!!

maybe she's like been a part of their relationship for a while, and she like the fledgling of some other vampire, her and her maker were like chill and totally platonic he dipped at some point before she met loustat, and she like the sane one between them and unfortunately gets ignored/left out unfortunately

something like the scene from season 1 where Louis swims across the Mississippi river to get to Lestat, and like reader is there too cause she went w Louis and loustat being there dramatic selves while she's just like trying to talk it out like adults, and then it spirals into argument about her wanting to visit her maker because Lestat, and tbh Louis too, is petty like that

Also your iwtv fics are my life line omg!!🎀

L'amour De Ma Vie | Lestat x Reader x Louis

ෆ while you love your companions, it is no secret that they oftentimes exclude you, and it isn't until you leave that they go into panic mode.

I love this idea, I hope you don't mind me changing it a little bit 🩷

“Louis, Y/n, you’re both soaking wet,” Lestat sat up from the bed.

Glancing at Louis, you could tell he was seconds away from slapping the smirk from Lestat’s face. The woman, Antoinette, wrapped one of the many sheets around her body, awkwardly staring at the two of you.

“Leave,” he told her, and just like that, she was up, running out of the bedroom.

“What are you two doing here?”

“Looking for you, and we…found you,” you answered. Louis remained silent, staring at Lestat, his mind all over the place from his companion's betrayal.

You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you didn't. Your maker, Lucius, lives a polyamorous lifestyle. From the moment he turned you, becoming his daughter, you saw the plethora of women and men come and go. Eternity was too long for him to stay with one person, he'd jokingly say, leaving a trail of broken hearts.

“You put your lover on the song, and expect us to come running back to you,” Louis screamed at him.

“I wanted a clear voice, to get the-

“I don’t give a fuck,” Louis interrupted.

“Louis, we agreed that we would just talk it out,” you told him, watching as he was fuming, but he ignored your words.

“You two swam to Mississippi to find me,” Lestat kept the same expression, eyeing the both of you lustfully.

“I swim faster than I drive,” Louis said, his fangs coming out.

“We don’t have to fight like this, we can find a middle ground-

“No, why are you acting unbothered by him stepping out on both of us?” Louis asked.

“I’m not, polyamory isn’t a deal breaker for me, so I feel like-

“He cheated Y/n, whatever bullshit you were exposed to by your maker, doesn’t apply in this relationship,” he told you, catching you off guard.

“That isn’t what I’m saying, we came here because of the song but also because we’ve agreed to make things work”

“So why are you acting like you’re on his side?”

“Louis, what are you talking about? Just because I’m not as angry as you, doesn’t mean I am against you, Lucius has always said anger is-

“Do you always have to bring him up?” Lestat asked a slight frown in place.

“Lucius, Lucius, Lucius, are you with us, or Lucius?” He raised his voice. Furrowing your eyebrows, you were extremely confused, about how the conversation went from Lestat’s infidelity to your relationship with your maker.

“I’m beginning to question the same thing,” you said, backing away.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” Louis shook his head, mentally criticizing himself for his choice of words.

“It’s okay,” you smiled at him, before leaving, due to your small age difference in your makers, you were faster than Louis, going back home.

You hated this feeling, this emotion, how your mind made you think of things that never bothered you too much before, but now did. From the moment you joined their companionship, you were constantly unintentionally excluded. Even in public, you cringed at times you were assumed to be nothing more than a friend of the two.

Entering the home you had grown to love, you went upstairs, packing some clothing in a bag. You were thankful that Claudia was out hunting, knowing your departure wouldn’t be so smooth if she’d been home. Leaving the bedroom, the family portrait caught your eye, making you pout.

Claudia sat on the sofa, while you, stood next to Louis and Lestat, who leaned against the sofa. You had been hesitant to take the photos, but they all insisted. As the photographer went to snap the photo, Lestat glanced at you.

“Come closer,” he said, pulling you between him and Louis.

His hand on your waist, while Louis held your hand, you all looked like a happy family.

Wiping the tear from your eye, you thought of how despite the occasional exclusion, they did so much more that made you overlook the habit. Maybe you could just get away for a little while, before coming back home.

Glamouring your way from state to state, for well over 24 hours, before you arrived in Los Angeles. Lucius fit into the bright city where stars and beauty resided. As you drained the shipment driver, you felt your blood pumping, an adrenaline rush of excitement coursing through your veins. Lifting from the man, you looked around, sensing the familiar presence near.

“I knew it was you I was sensing,” you heard, smiling brightly, you climbed out of the truck, running into Lucius' arms. His expensive scent filled your nose, as you wiped your mouth.

“What are you wearing, my love, is this what they wear down in New Orleans?” he asked, staring at your outfit. Beige trousers, along with a light pink blouse, he shook his head in disapproval. He considered himself to have impeccable taste in clothing, but he also was old-fashioned in some ways.

“I couldn't have traveled practically in a dress,” you said.

“I am more than glad that you are here, but why so sudden? I mean, no letter or postcard”

“I just wanted to get away from home for a while”

“Those two aren't treating you right? They are easily replaceable, what have I always told you, an eternity is-

“too long to be stuck with the same person, and I should always explore my taste, I know, and Louis and Lestat are fine, I just wanted to get away, I was hoping I could stay with you, for some time, if that's alright”

“Of course, you are always welcome,” he said, walking you to his car.

He didn't live too far away, in an expensive neighborhood, his villa home, the most extravagant. Stepping out, you immediately noticed the woman, peaking from the window.

“You have company?”

“Yes, Sonya, she wants to be an actor”

“You said that weirdly, is she special, maybe a potential companion?” you asked him, grinning.

“She has very sweet blood and an equally cute face, so I keep her around”

“You were just talking about me being with the same people-

“My love, this is different, she has grown on me, yes, but I think we both know I’ll eventually crave something new,” he smirked, as he wrapped his arm around you, leading you into the house.

“Shameless,” you laughed.

“It's true, and the best part of all, when the sex is wonderful they always come running back, come on, I have an extra coffin, you can sleep in”

“I went all the way to Metairie, and nothing, what about you?” Louis announced, walking back into the house. Pacing the floor, while Lestat sat at the piano, staring off into space.

“Why is he back here, I thought we weren’t talking to him right now? And where’s Y/n?” Claudia asked.

“Not now Clau-

“She’s gone, she took some clothes and left,” Lestat finally spoke.

“She can’t be too far, we can still find her and-

“I’ve been all over Mississippi, searching, nothing, not a trace, I can’t think of where she could be and I’m not her m-” Stopping in his speech, he put his head down, clenching his jaw. His leg shook lightly, trying to contain his anger.

“What is it?” Louis asked as he and Claudia stared confusedly at him.

“She’s with her maker,” he managed to get out.

His eyes reddened as he grew angrier, Lestat couldn’t help that he was inherently jealous, unrighteously possessive, especially towards those he loved, and that was very few. You were the most relaxed, forgiving vampire he'd ever met. Extremely oblivious and doting, you'd brag to whoever would listen about how great he was.

While he and Louis held all of the attention, he could hear you bragging to some mortal how well-dressed Louis was, or how Lestat was the greatest musician to grace your ears. You would go on and on, stroking their egos, willingly accepting and loving their baggage Claudia, you were a precious gem, adored by them both.

Your personality was much calmer than theirs, while they regularly clashed, you'd be bringing up calming methods, or ignoring them, chatting with Claudia.

“You have the power over your anger, Lucius was once a cruel angry vampire until he realized it was pointless, if the situation can be fixed, then do it, but if not, leave it in the past,” you'd quote.

Lucius, Lestat hated the man greatly, despite never coming across him before. Suppose his hate began from the respect you held for the man. He was around the same age as Lestat, from Italy, and was very handsome, he'd heard you say before.

He wished he could undo time so that he could become your maker. His blood in your veins, your heart in sync with his own, his fully, bound by more than your vow of companionship. While Louis only hated the man for the weird lifestyle habits he passed along to you, Lestat loathed the idea of another being nearly as perfect as he was to you.

“Lucius speaks French too, although he's more fluent in Italian”

“Lucius is also into fashion, he used to dress me all the time”

“Lucius was once a part of an opera, but he ended up causing a bit of drama because he slept with nearly everyone who worked there”

“Lucius…”

“Lucius…”

Lestat sat frozen seething at the thought of the man. He wanted nothing more than to kill him for making his way into your heart, he couldn't care less about the kind of relationship you'd shared with him.

“Uncle Les,” Claudia called out, exchanging a look with Louis.

“We can still get her to come home, he has sent her mail before,” looking around, he sent to the pile of mail, looking through and seeing the ripped-open envelope.

“Los Angeles, she's in Los Angeles, we can find her,” Louis approached Lestat, showing him the mail.

“She's gone, she's gone back to him and left us,” Lestat mumbled to himself, already crying.

“Hey, we’re gonna find her and she'll hear out, she’ll come back home,” Louis told Lestat, also trying to convince himself, as tears dropped from his eyes.

“I’m going to bed,” Lestat sulked.

“So you can cry all night? Do you want Y/n to come back or not, I sure as hell got used to some peace around here, we have the address, we can easily find a way out there, stop being so dramatic,” Claudia screamed at him.

“I preferred her quiet,” he said, sniffling.

“We can get her back home, you know how she is, she'll want to talk it out before we're back on the road”

“The insufferable therapy sessions,” he chimed in, as he wiped his eyes.

“Exactly, we can start planning right now,” Louis said, his companion nodded in agreement.

“How much do I need to pack?” Claudia asked.

“What makes you think you could come?” Lestat asked her, crossing his legs.

“Because I care about Y/n too”

“We won't be gone for long Claudia, we're just trying to get her to come back home,” Louis said to her, watching as she stepped away.

“If Y/n was here, she would not be okay with you just leaving me here,” she said, stomping upstairs.

“Where should we start?”

“Why don’t you turn Sonya? It’s so obvious that you care about her?” You asked Lucius as you danced to the classical record, in the considerably large living room. Wearing the custom gown he'd gifted you, both of your mouths were covered in blood from the guest of the orgy he'd hosted.

It had been nearly a week of spending time with him, and you were enjoying every moment of the easygoing, carefree life.

“None of this music is as good as it once was, going to see Paganini, I had never heard an instrument played so beautifully,” he shook his head, ignoring your question.

“Lucius,” you called his name knowingly, forcing him to look at you.

“I can't turn her, I…I love her,” he admitted, dipping you.

“If you love her, you'd turn her, and you both can have eternity together,” you told him, but he smiled, his hand brushing against your cheek.

“If I love her, then I'll let her live, have children of her own, and pass on as a pretty little elderly woman,” he said.

“Very noble of you,” you joked.

“I guess, but I’ll hold on until that time comes, I have another two years, and she’ll be twenty-seven”

“Aw, Lucius, are you sure you don't want me to do it?” you asked, as he continued to dance.

“Love looks different for everyone, my love, you, of all people, understand that,” he chuckled.

“I guess you're right”

“I suppose that is why your lovers are about to burst into my home,” he said with a smile, as he held you close.

“Yeah, probably, wait, wh-

Just then, the front door burst open, Lestat and Louis storming it, although, they had different targets, rushing over. Louis stood in front of you, pulling you away, into his arms, already pleading that you forgive him for how he spoke and his recent habit of exclusion.

While Lestat instantly had Lucius against the wall, his hand to his throat. Your maker only laughed, you truly learned well, both of these men wrapped completely around your finger, and you didn't even realize it.

“Lestat, don't,” you told him, hearing his chaotic thoughts, he wanted Lucius dead.

“You leave without a word, in the middle of the night. Countless arguments, and the moment he comes up, you up and leave me, leave us,” he screamed.

“We can talk about it, but I need you to let him go, I don't want to see you two fighting, so please, just release him,” you said, exhaling a breath of air, as he let go, growling at Lucius, who nonchalantly walked to you.

“You've done so well, my love, they're like your two little dogs,” he laughed, turning off the music.

“Lucius,” you warned lightly, as he pulled you close to whisper into your ear.

“I’ll give you a bit of privacy, I presume you won't be here when am back, I want you to reach out more often, it has been fun since you've been back home”

“I will,” you nodded.

“Wonderful, I love you”

“I love you too,” you said, watching as he went outside, flying into the air in an instant.

“What are you two doing here?” you asked them, wiping your mouth.

“What are we doing here? Did you forget that you have companions, or did you not care?” Lestat asked angrily.

“You up and left, you didn't even leave a note,” Louis said.

“Did you not care when you were in Mississippi, did you care when you brought up upbringing as if it was an insult?” the words shut them up, the guilt evident, in their eyes.

“Do you love him more, you went back to your maker because you want him more, we haven't been enough for you,” Lestat spoke.

“I'm sorry for what I said to you, I was angry and I misdirected my anger and I didn't mean to do that, especially to you,” Louis apologized.

“Apologizing is pointless, you love him more than any of us, I just need to hear you say it, perhaps that will give me the closure I need, say Lestat, I never loved you-

Bursting out laughing, you covered your mouth, waving your hand apologetically at the two.

“I'm sorry, but you two are drama queens,” you laughed.

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn't even take all of my clothes, or my coffin if I was leaving, I would be taking that because it’s custom,” you told them.

“Why didn't you say that in a letter?” Louis asked you.

“Because I thought about leaving for good, but then I considered how much I love you both, yes, I am oftentimes left out, but when I'm not, I feel like I'm on top of the world, and as you said, we have gotten into countless of arguments, why would I just because you brought up Lucius?”

“You're always bringing him up, comparing-

“I’m not comparing the two of you, you have a few things in common, it has only been a handful of times, but you only like the attention on you, you get so jealous at the thought of me talking about another man,” you laughed.

“Don't be ridiculous, and he's not nearly as good-looking as me,” he said.

“See, I never compared your looks, I know who looks better, Lucius doesn't come close”

“You too, Louis, jealous, worried that I wouldn't think that our relationship is enough and I’d go back to Lucius to practice his lifestyle, it's cute really, you both came scrambling out here, to win me back, I am touched and a few other things,” you continued as they approached you.

Immediately, Lestat was kissing your lips, holding you close, scared to let you slip away. Pushing away from him, you pulled Louis near, slipping your tongue into his mouth. Lestat stood behind you, kissing your neck, and tearing the dress.

“Where’s Claudia?” you asked through your moans, as each article of clothing was peeled away. Stopping, the two slowly stared at each other, before looking at you.

“She’s in New Orleans”

“You left her in New Orleans, by herself? We need to leave now, why would you do that?” you yelled, going to pack your things.

“Wait, can we finish what we started?” Louis asked his hand over the painfully stiff sensation between his legs.

“No, we need to get back to her”

“I hate when the brat is right”

[justplainlovely]

No, Christine Daaé is not 15-19 years old. No voice that young can sing the works of Gounod or Wagner. Heck, even some 20 somethings damage their voices by singing Wagner too soon. And Faust is a very intense opera for a singer, let alone the role of Marguerite. Much stamina is needed to perform it. She is likely 20-23, given Raoul’s age and the fact that they’re said to be around the same.

In my opinion, I think people put her in the 15-19 age bracket because they don’t want to believe that a young woman can be just as naive as a teenage girl (in the novel it says “she has the heart of a 15-year-old”, not that she’s actually 15). Hate to break it to ya, but some of us adults are also gullible/naive. It makes her a well-rounded, believable character and it’s not her fault that Erik played into the lie. After all, if a voice like his, described as angelic or otherworldly, started speaking to you in your dressing room (I would likely faint cuz wtf, but if I didn’t, I would ask what’s going on) you would likely err on the side of the supernatural too.

Edit: I got the Wagner mixed up with other rep - that’s my bad. In case it wasn’t obvious to the tags (did not expect to get so much attention on this post, but ey, shiz happens) I hate the 2004 movie. They had to make Erik that kind of a creep to get across that he’s scary? My guy is a psychologically damaged, living corpse, but they had to make him a pedo instead? It just shows what I’ve always assumed about Phantom is true: we lean away from his deformity and into his character (cuz yes he’s still awful, I’ve never denied that) because we are too uncomfortable with his ugliness. He is who he is because the world has been unimaginably cruel to him over his features (an explanation, not an excuse - Erik is bad for the 100,000 time). What makes Christine who she is is her choice to forgive him - it’s what I love most about her, her compassion. I have been in abusive relationships myself, in case I haven’t made that clear, and yes, oddly enough, I’ve forgiven them. That’s my interaction with this story. That’s why I’m here: to explore the dynamics in a safe way. But some of y’all truly don’t understand how people can enjoy bad things when they’re in fiction. It’s fiction.

Sorry for my ramble and thank you for reading.

[jweekgoji]

Yandere!Five/Reader (platonic/headcanons)

the story contains: spoilers for season 4 (+ some changes in plot), yandere!five(-s), strictly platonic, five here is in his 20s (physically) and in his late 60s (mentally), overprotective old man five, soft yan!Five, OOC cuz it's yanderes 🤷

I really like to imagine Five being overprotective over someone young and still full of joy. You can be either a kid of one of his siblings, or just a random child he found during his time in The Commission. It wouldn't be that far away from reality, The Handler took little Lila and trained her to do the dirty job, no one would be surprised if that creepy woman ends up kidnapping another child born on October 1st for herself.

Either way, Five is a good familial figure. We all saw how he acts towards little Grace, making small cheering comments from time to time to his niece when she is enjoying her birthday party. I expect him to be much softer if it's someone who is always close to him and constantly tags along with Five. Let's say, he knows you enough to let you go with him at the end of Season 3, since all of his siblings left, he basically has no other choice but to be the only one who has to protect you.

At first, he might get a little irritated because of it. It's not because he finds you annoying or hates being around kids. The problem is, he is not a social person himself. He never had a proper childhood because he spent 45 years stuck in the apocalypse. Then his time in The Commission, stuck with people either invading his personal space, or always staring at him due to him being him. The man got no time for a good rest. He also got no experience in how he should take care of a kid.

Despite a good bag of problems on his back, like the fact that he is still considered a child himself because of his appearance, no job, no money, no place to stay, he somehow gets everything you need. It would probably cost him a lot of pride to sacrifice, people constantly saying «Aww, are you looking after your little sibling at such age? Where are your parents?» makes him want to say something snarky, but he would bite his tongue, since he doesn't want people to ask more questions. He is used to doing everything on his own, dealing with every trouble by no one but himself because it's how he got things done for ages. Not so surprising, Five is pretty good at it.

When he gets his job as a CIA agent, he does not get so much time to be with you, he's more busy even though he is «the one of the professional young agents», trying to investigate more and more. But I believe that he would absolutely think about you during his work, he would go nonchalantly in his mind «Should I buy them the cereal with that dumb colourful toy inside? No, that stuff has too much sugar for someone their age—», which is pretty ironic since Five has a little sweet tooth himself, knowing his famous toasts with peanut butter and marshmallows. He doesn't give you a chance to eat that stuff too much anyways, because he believes « You'll get to eat those when you grow older», while you probably pout and tug on his clothes, trying to make him share with you this tasty sweet thing with tons of deadly sugar! He will give up after a good 15 minutes of you jumping around, being noisy and whiney, so he would roll his eyes and give you like less than 1/3 of the toast, saying 'here is your half, happy now?🙄'. At least he managed to keep you quiet for some time, while he can focus on some little time of his rest.

Five wants you to be independent just like him. Mainly because he doesn't want to think about potential scenarios where you are without him, all defenseless and have no idea what to do. He will teach you everything, how to protect yourself, how to use the oven, who you should call immediately if something happens (he will probably write a phone number with a marker on your wrist, since kids tend to be forgetful and easily distracted and he does NOT take such a risk).

But Five would never push or press on you, he doesn't want to make another child assassin with childhood trauma, think of it as a grandfather taking you to the lake to teach you how to fish. He is constantly near your side, guiding gently but firmly, to you it's mostly about having fun but also learning new things. Five will praise you, give you some advice and will pet your head if you do something right. I do believe he is overprotective, that he doesn't want to even let you near anything dangerous, but he's also paranoid that if another apocalypse comes back, you should be able to survive.

When Five gets his powers back and reunites with his siblings, you will always be with him. Of course I can imagine him having a nanny to call so you would be away from all his family stuff and there is someone whom he can trust enough, but...he might trust himself more than anyone else (but also it's more interesting for the story than you being somewhere away from all the fun lol). When weird things start to happen, Five is looking for anyone even slightly suspicious. Why is this Elf Guy looking at him? Is that guy looking at YOU ? Stop looking at his kid!

Thankfully for him, you weren't around when Lila and Five stuck in that subway. But instead of spending years here, giving up on the idea of coming back home, that would never happen. Because come on, it's Five. He would never give up on coming back to his family and you, someone he also considers as a part of his family. Maybe they're not ideal, they might hate each other, sometimes even annoy him, but he would never allow himself at least a single minute of proper rest since he believes that his only priority is to come back to people he cares about.

The moment he finds the notes on how to come back, he will do it in an instant. When he sees his family safe - he is happy, even though he would hide his inner feelings. You're a little confused when he just hugs you tightly to his chest all of the sudden, sighing in relief the moment he realizes you're with him. Still the same little you, not a single change in your appearance. « Something happened?» you ask softly, carefully placing your arms around him. for some reason, it feels weird. he was never a person who could hug you just because he feels like it. the only time he might give you that it's only if you initiate it, needing comfort because you were afraid of storm or just woke up from the nightmare. « No, no, just stay like that for a little bit,» Five whispers, trying to calm his racing heart. he's thankful that this body at least can take all the stress he constantly experiences in his life. you are probably surprised and confused but he doesn't care about it now. he just came back to you after years of being apart. at least for him it was, for you — a few hours. Despite how unusual it makes you feel, you don't question it, you will give him all the comfort he deserves after whatever he went through.

A good happy ending we deserve would probably be Five (accidentally) taking you to this buffet full of his other versions. You're probably so shy and awkward to see all of them, so you stick closer to him, holding his hand. Five is a little more protective too, he doesn't trust his other selves as we know. I can imagine a little you being so scared to even make a single move, because the moment you look away, you might get lost! Is that your Five? Or is it the one who's near the other table? Why is that Five drunk? When did he find the apron?? But all of them are very nice to you. Five who works as a waiter would gladly help you to find your guardian and maybe he'll spoil you with food they serve here— Your Five is definitely not happy with how much attention you gain from.. other versions of him, but he knows that they all care the same of you.

[sweetiecutie]

Ok ok listen-

teacher!valeria x student!reader🫶🫶

(I imagen her and us having "study sessions" she calls us in her classroom to talk about our grades or she calls us in her classroom so she can "help" us with something that we didnt understand 😻😻and could reader be a fem?. if u dont want to do this is ok!!🫶❤️)

Pairing: Valeria Garza x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, university AU!, professor/student trope, age gap implied

A/n: this is literally so sexy, I’m about to cream my fucking pants😩

Okay, so this is a university au, in which Valeria is one of the professors. I have a feeling that she would be teaching something hard and complicated - let’s say math.

Professor Garza is very strict. She’s one of the people who value discipline and order over anything else, punishing everyone who dares disturbing it. Valeria wouldn’t think twice before giving out detentions and extra work for behavior she deems unacceptable within auditorium. Chatting during her lectures? - detention. Forgetting to do homework she gave? - detention and double the amount of exercises you had to be handed over to her due to 3 pm the next day.

Many students fear Miss Garza, many hate her, many like her; but every single one has some sort of respect for her cold and stoic demeanor. Valeria is strict and demanding , but she’s also one of the bestest - many students wish to be teached by her.

And even if it seems nearly impossible, Valeria does have favorites. Very few - 3-4 students in whole university, but boy are they privileged.

Valeria values conformity over anything else. She prefers students that are polite and well-behaved, never causing any commotion or fuss. And you happened to be just that - miss goody two shoes, one of the bestest in your year, never once failing ho hand in whatever assignment Valeria gave you, no matter how complicated or cumbersome the work was.

Garza quickly caught onto your skills, and by the end of first year she already valued you over the rest of your group. Not only the brilliance of your mind, which was capable of so many amazing thing, drew her in; you’re quite a sight for sore eye as well - clothes always neat and ironed, hair framing your pretty face perfectly no matter what, light makeup only highlighting your natural beauty. Valeria couldn’t help her eyes lingering on your soft thighs whenever you decided on wearing a skirt or a dress to uni, flooding her head with images of these exact thighs spread wide before her.

It was quite a challenge for Valeria to find any mistakes in your works. You were a smart little girl, she had no doubts about it at that point. But every time, with extreme effort, professor Garza managed to find all the little flaws in your works. They did seem ridiculous tho, something other math professors wouldn’t even deem as a mistake. So first time this happened you came up to the older woman, asking about your strangely low grade; and Valeria, voice softer with feigned sympathy, patiently explained why she had to grade you so lowly. “I hope you do better next time, hm?” She’d say with a small smile, dismissing you from her classroom. Oh how the sight of your pouting lips and teary eyes got her off

As semester drew nearer to its end your works didn’t seem to improve even a slightest bit. At this point you were convinced that it was something personal - that professor Garza simply disliked you (oh if only you knew). So it was a surprise when Valeria called out for you to stay behind as everyone was leaving after the end of her lecture. You obediently descended the stairs of high auditorium, coming to her desk, standing there patiently as all the students left.

Once alone in the room, Valeria turned to face you, one hip leaning onto the edge of her working desk. Her dark eyes gazed at you from above thin lenses of her reading glasses, arms crossed over her chest making her tits perk up teasingly from within two unmade buttons of her white blouse.

“Y/n, I wanted to talk to you about your grades” she said, her voice sounding a bit softer than usual - voice she used on you only. Your body tensed slightly at her words, your fingers gripping your books more tightly as you looked at her tentatively.

“I made a small research on your academic performance and it seems that you only struggle with my subject. Is there any particular reason to this?” She asked, concern lacing her words.

You bit your tongue, fighting back bitter words of indignation - it was Valeria’s fault only that your grades in math were so low. But you kept silent, gazing dully onto the floor under your feet. Professor Garza heaved a heavy sigh, her heart thrumming loudly within her chest at what she was about to do.

“Y/n, you’re a very smart girl, and I don’t want you to ruin your record because of arithmetics. I can give you some extra credit” she said calmly, your ears perking up at her words.

You looked up at the older woman, obviously surprised - Valeria never gave extra credit, no matter the circumstances. You blinked rapidly a few times - you won’t lose such an opportunity, you’d be a fool if you did.

“Sure, I’d be very grateful!” You said quickly, looking at Valeria with wide eager eyes.

She only smiled at your words, nodding for you to come closer. As you did, she took your books and notes out of your hands, placing them on the faraway side of her desk. “You won’t need these”

As you were going to ask what she meant her warm hand clasped around the back of your neck, slamming you against her desk. With a small squeak you were bent over the table, your cheek squished against some papers scattered on top of it. You felt Valeria’s hot chest pressing against your back, her free hand glided up and down the side of your hip as she whispered into your ear “Now I need you to be a good little girl and spread your legs wider”

And you did. Arousal pooled in the pit of your stomach, making your knees go weak as Valeria’s hand slipped in between your soft thighs - just like she always dreamed of, massaging your soft pussy through thin material of your panties.

Soon enough these same panties were shoved into your mouth to muffle all desperate cries tearing through your chest as to not disturb other professors in nearby auditoriums; three of Valeria’s long fingers fucked in and out of your drooling pussy with loud squelching sounds, her fingertips grazing that one spot deep within you, making your eyes roll and toes curl.

You exited professor Garza’s auditorium on trembling legs, your makeup and hair unnaturally messy, eyes unfocused and bleary but - most importantly - with impeccable record on arithmetics.

But to keep your math performance this way, you had to visit professor Garza some more for extracurricular activities <3

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Writers live off feedback, give us some love<3

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[joelmillerisapunk]

Bfd/dbf catches u showering and/or masterbating please 🤲

you got me thinkin' nonsense

Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 2,478

Summary: Joel's asked to watch you and your parents' house while they're away, and boy, does he take watching you seriously.

Warnings: 18+, f!oral receiving, unprotected p in v, reader has pullable hair, implied age gap (make it your own) use of darlin, sweetheart, baby, a bit of Joel convincing you.

Notes: my first request! Thank you, thank you, sweet nonnie 🥰 I hope you enjoy. I love a good dbf catching you doing anything. Also about to hit a milestone with followers and I'm hoping to do a lil fun thing for it 🥰 thank you to everyone for being so amazing and kind and lovely and welcoming. My short time here has been so so warm 💚 tysm @saradika-graphics for the dividers

It had been a long day for Joel Miller. He just finished a grueling shift at the fire station and was looking forward to some much-needed rest and relaxation. But his plans were quickly dashed when he received a call from his best buddy, your dad.

"Hey, Joel. I hate to ask, but I need a favor," Al says, his voice sounds strained.

Joel sits up in his chair, immediately alert. "What's goin’ on?"

"Jen and I are taking a trip to the Bahamas for a week, and we were wondering if you could check up on the house and our daughter while we're gone.”

Joel sighs, running a hand through his greying hair. "Sure. But you know she’s not a little girl anymore, right? She's a grown woman now."

Your dad chuckles. "I know, I know. But she's still my little girl, and I just want to make sure she's okay while we're gone."

Joel smiles, feeling a surge of affection for his friend. "No problem. I'll keep an eye on her."

A week later Joel finds himself standing outside of his best friend Al's house, the keys jingling in his hand. He takes a deep breath and inserts the key into the lock, turning it until he hears the satisfying click of the door opening. Joel walks into the house, taking in the familiar sights and smells. He feels a pang of nostalgia as he looks around the living room, remembering all the times he and Al hung out here, watching football and drinking beer.

But there's no sight of you. so he makes his way down the hall, peeking into each room until he comes to your door.

But you're not in your room.

He frowns, wondering where you are. It's not like you to wander off without telling anyone. Even as a grown adult, you still always made sure someone knew your whereabouts. He checks his phone, but there are no messages or missed calls. As he turns back to the hall, he hears the faint sound of a voice coming from what sounds like the bathroom. So he decides to check just in case.

As he approaches, he hears the sound of water running and the faint sound of moaning. He pauses, his heart racing as he realises what's happening behind the closed door. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help it. Without thinking, he reaches out and turns the doorknob, pushing the door open just a crack. He can see you through the foggy glass, your naked body glistening with water.

His eyes widen as he takes in the sight before him. You're standing under the pulsing stream of water, your hand between your legs as you bring yourself to climax. He knows he shouldn't be watching this, but he can't bring himself to look away. He feels a surge of desire course through his veins as he watches you pleasure yourself.

You tilt your head back, letting the water run down your neck and body, and he can't help but stare. His eyes are drawn to the way your hips move as you touch yourself. The way you're grasping the walls to get some leverage. He feels his own body responding, his cock growing painfully hard in his pants.

He reaches down and unzips his jeans, pulling out his thick, ready erection, filling his hand. He starts to stroke himself, his eyes never leaving your body. He can feel his balls tighten as he watches you get closer and closer to your own orgasm.

But just as you're about to come, your eyes widen in shock as you catch sight of Joel standing in the doorway, his jeans unzipped and his thick, hard cock in his hand. You gasp, your body freezing in surprise as you realize that he's been watching you.

"Joel, what the fuck are you doing here?" you demand, trying to cover yourself with your hands.

But Joel doesn't seem to hear you. His eyes are fixed on your body, his hand moving a little faster as he strokes himself.

"Don't stop on my account, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and husky. "You look so fuckin' hot, touchin' yourself like that."

You feel a surge of anger and embarrassment, but there's something else there too – something that makes your heart race and your body tingle. You've always had a bit of a crush on Joel, and now here he is, watching you pleasure yourself.

"Fuck you," you say, trying to sound angry. But your voice comes out breathless and shaky, betraying your arousal.

Joel chuckles, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. "Oh, I fully intend to fuck you, sweetheart," he says, his eyes blazing with desire. Joel advances towards you, his cock still in his hand. You back away, your heart pounding in your chest. You know you should be angry, but all you can feel is a deep, primal desire.

"Joel, this is wrong," you say, but your voice is weak and uncertain.

Joel reaches out and strokes your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "Sometimes, wrong can feel so right," he murmurs.

But you don't budge.

Joel's eyes soften as he looks at you. "Hey, hey," he says softly. "I'm not here to cause any trouble. Your dad asked me to check up on you while they're gone, that's all. I didn't mean to intrude." He pauses for a moment, then continues. "But I can't deny what I saw just now. You looked so beautiful, so alive. I'm not saying this is how things have to be, but I want you to know that I'm here for you, in whatever way you need me."

You can feel your heart racing as you look at Joel, your body trembling with a mixture of embarrassment, anger, and desire. You know that what he's suggesting is wrong, that it could ruin your relationship with your dad. But there's something about the way he's looking at you, that makes you want to throw caution to the wind.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Joel, I don't w -”

He takes a step back before you finish, putting his hands up like you're playing cops and robbers. You can see the disappointment in his eyes as he puts himself back into his jeans and turns to leave. But just as he reaches for the doorknob, you hear yourself say something unexpected.

"Wait," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I - I do want this, Joel, please. I just, I really don't know -"

Joel's expression darkens as he turns back around and walks up to you. He reaches out to grab a handful of your hair, pulling your head back so that you're looking up at him. "You don't have to know, sweetheart," he growls. "You just have to feel." He leans down to kiss you, his lips crushing against yours as his tongue demands entry into your mouth. You moan softly, your body melting against his as you kiss him back, your hands reaching up to clutch at his shoulders.

When the kiss breaks, you see Joel smile, his eyes burning with desire. "Let's not waste any more time." He takes your hand, pulling you toward the bathtub. "Get on the edge, darlin’," he orders, his voice rough with desire.

You do as he says, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him move around the bathtub, positioning himself between your legs. He looks at you, his eyes blazing with desire as he reaches out and touches you, his fingers sliding easily between your wet folds.

"You're so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "You want this as much as I do dont’cha?” Joel's fingers explore your body, teasing and tantalizing you as he strokes your slick folds. You moan softly, your hips bucking up to meet his touch as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. "Please, Joel," you gasp, your voice desperate with need. "Need more."

Joel smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. "More, huh? Well, let's see if we can't take care of that for ya, baby." He leans down, his mouth replacing his fingers as he starts to lick and suck at your clit. You cry out, your hands reaching down to clutch at his head as he devours you with an intensity that takes your breath away.

"Fuck, Joel," you gasp, your body trembling with pleasure. "Don't stop, please, don't stop."

Joel chuckles, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. "I have no intention of stopping, sweetheart," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to make you come harder than you ever have before."

True to his word, Joel doesn't stop, his tongue works magic on your clit as his fingers plunge deep inside you, curling up to hit the sweetest spot. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body tensing up as you approach your climax.

"Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasp.

Joel doesn't respond, his mouth and fingers continuing their relentless assault on your body. You can feel yourself spiraling out of control, your climax building up inside of you like a tidal wave.

"Joel, I'm coming!" You scream, your body convulsing with pleasure as you shatter into a thousand pieces. You grip onto Joel as hard as you can but doesn't let up, his tongue continues to lap at your clit as you ride out your orgasm, your body trembling with aftershocks.

When it's over, Joel pulls back, a satisfied smile on his face as he looks up at you. "See? Told you I'd make you come harder than you ever have."

You can't help but smile back, your body still tingling with pleasure. "You definitely did," you admit, your voice soft and dreamy.

Joel stands up, his cock hard and ready again beneath his jeans. "Good, I'm not done with you yet." He takes your hand leading you to your bed, instructing you to sit on the edge while he undresses. He steps closer, his body pressing against yours, you can feel his cock pressing against you too.

Joel's lips find yours, his tongue plunging deep into your mouth as he kisses you with a passion that takes your breath away again. You can feel the heat of his body against yours, and the sensation of his hard cock pressing against you sends a shiver down your spine.

"I want you, Joel," you gasp, your voice hoarse with desire as you break the kiss.

Joel smirks, "Then take me, sweetheart," he growls, his voice rough with lust.

You don't need any more encouragement. You reach down, grabbing his cock and guiding it to your entrance. Joel doesn't wait, his hips thrusting forward as he impales you on his thick, hard length. You cry out as Joel starts to thrust in and out of you, his hips moving with a rhythm that drives you wild. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to another climax, your body tensing up as you get close.

"Fuck, Joel," you gasp. "Harder, please."

Joel doesn't disappoint. His thrusts become more and more intense as he brings you closer. "Come for me, sweetheart," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "Come all over my cock, come on darlin I gotcha."

You can't help but obey, your climax building up inside you as Joel's thrusts become more and more intense. "Joel, m'gonna come again." You get out as your body convulses with pleasure as you shatter into a thousand pieces once again. Joel follows you over the edge, his cock twitching inside you as he comes with a low growl. When it's over, Joel pulls back, his cock slipping out of you with a wet sound. He looks down at you, his eyes softening as he takes in your dreamy state and disheveled hair.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice gentle.

You can't help but smile up at him, your heart still racing with pleasure. "I'm more than okay," you admit, your voice soft and dreamy.

Joel chuckles, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "I'm glad," he murmurs. "Because I have to admit, I've been wanting to do that for a long time."

You can feel your heart racing as you look up at him, your body trembling with a mixture of embarrassment and desire. "You have?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel nods, "I've always had a thing for you, sweetheart. But I never wanted to ruin your relationship with your dad or my friendship with your dad."

You can understand where he's coming from, but you can't deny the way you feel. You've always had a crush on Joel, and now that you've experienced the passion that burns between you, there's no going back.

"I want this, Joel," you say, your voice firm and determined. "I want you."

Joel's expression softens, and he reaches out to stroke your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "Are you sure, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice gentle. "I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for."

You nod, your heart racing with excitement and desire. "I'm sure, Joel," you say, your voice firm and determined. "I want you." You stroke his patchy beard, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.

Joel's eyes light up, and he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. "I want to spend the rest of the week exploring every inch of your beautiful body."

And he does, taking you to heights of pleasure you never thought possible. By the time your dad and his wife come back from their trip, you and Joel have become inseparable, and you find yourself at his place more than not.

After a week of passion and exploration, you and Joel have grown even closer. You find yourself falling for him hard. You never thought you could feel this way about your dad's best friend, but here you are, head over heels for the man.

But you know that this is a secret that can never come out. You and Joel have talked about it at length, and you both know that the consequences would be disastrous. You're both aware of the potential fallout, and you're both committed to keeping your relationship a secret.

It's not easy to keep your relationship a secret from the world. But every time you're together, every time Joel touches you, every time he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, you know that it's all worth it.

You know that this was never meant to be, forged in the most unlikely of circumstances. But you also know that this is real and true and strong. And you're willing to do whatever it takes to protect it.

So you continue to see each other in secret, stealing moments of passion whenever you can. It's not perfect, but it's something. And for now, that's enough.

[gloomwitchwrites]

I wish to see how each of the 141 boys respond to their ex, reader, calling them for emotional support bc readers newest bf was toxic af

bonus points if 141 boys are still possessive over reader, but doesn't do anything besides telling reader to leave her toxic bf. OR ORRR he's possessive bc him and reader have been together for so long, who would know how to treat her better than him? He knows every little detail she cares about, every little action that makes her fall head over heels in an instant. Her toxic bf? He doesn't care to learn about those types of things, even if reader outright says it

EVEN MORE BONUS POINTS for smut to show reader what a quick fuck of satisfaction looks like vs genuine sex / love making

Apologies, Anon. This has been sitting in my inbox for…a while, but I’ve been thinking about it off and on since you’ve sent it in.

I’ll drop some HC’s about how this would go down but I absolutely want to explore this further as part of the Imagines & What If Series.

I'll tackle these separately and make them individual one-shots (with much more detail) once I wrap up the By the Belt prompt. But for now...enjoy my HC's (if you will) on what I think would go down in this scenario.

The official masterlist for the extended fics can be found HERE.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Content & Warnings: suggestive themes (it's vague), brief mentions of protective/possessive behavior, canon-typical swearing

John Price

Breakup status: Strained (at first), but settled into friendship.

Absolutely hates texting, and you know if you need to reach him immediately, you have to call. Price isn’t an old man, he’s just the old man of the group, and would absolutely be tech literate but also super picky on how he communicates with people personally. It’s Price’s job to be calm, to be a leader, and pick up on things others don’t necessarily notice. So, Price would know you’re upset with your current boyfriend without you even having to spell it out. Besides, Price hates the guy, and knows he’s not worth even a lob of spit.

Plus, Price has been wanting to get back with you for ages. Now that the two of you are friends and have repaired whatever it is that separated the two of you in the first place, Price is looking to find a way to move in again, to slowly (or quickly) win you back, and now he has the opportunity.

Price insists on talking in person, and the moment the two of you are together, he makes the effort he knows you’re needing—because he wants you back, but also because he knows you better than your current boyfriend. Price doesn’t understand why you even gave the guy a chance, but he’ll do everything to get you back.

He would start with subtle indications eventually moving the conversation into past memories, reminiscing on happier times when you were his woman, and how that felt. It slowly devolves until you’re admitting first that you still miss him, and Price goes in for the kill, stating clearly that he still has feelings for you.

The final act is passionate, rough, and intense. Like an atom splitting, it is explosive.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Breakup status: mutual (away all the time; hard to make it work)

When you call, on the verge of tears, needing to talk to someone, Gaz immediately knows something is wrong the moment he picks up. (Sorta like Price but more attuned emotionally to the situation).

I can see Gaz not being a fan of chatting for long periods on the phone, so you don’t even need to ask, Gaz will drop everything and come to you without you having to suggest it. In fact, Gaz picks up, realizes your upset, and immediately says he’s coming over.

When he arrives, it’s like the two of you have never been apart. It’s almost routine, completely natural the way the two of you come together. Gaz is very much about physical affection. He’s constantly touching you, comforting you, and saying sweet things that always make you melt.

Totally knows you need a distraction, and while you’re upset, you’re having a difficult time expressing yourself. When this happens, Gaz just shuts it down, guiding you toward distraction to help you calm down and ease your mind before probing to see if you want to return to the topic.

Once that happens, game over for boyfriend. He’s lost you to Gaz.

The reunification is absolutely passionate and soft. I will die on that hill.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Breakup status: Messy. (You cannot tell me Soap isn’t a hot mess. Our boy is a little too high energy at times.)

While the breakup between the two of you is messy, Soap has always been a “safe” person for you. So, when you call him to vent, you don’t realize that Soap immediately starts heading in your direction until he knocks on your door and the two of you stand there staring at each other, phones held up to your ears. It’s an impulsive decision on his end to come to you, but you don’t turn him away.

Like Simon, Soap would be forward in the way he addresses your concern and the issues—which is your shitty boyfriend who deserves to only be known as your ex. However, where Simon is more of a blunt “these are the facts” kind of communicator, Soap will go for the jugular, using harsher language about this “boyfriend.” He won’t be critical of you, but he will be overly critical of him, listing all the ways this idiot doesn’t deserve you. He might even grow a bit heated in tone and pitch, becoming creative with his slang, and his accent might thicken slightly especially if he’s going off.

But ultimately, Soap is defending you, and reiterates the need for you to stand up for yourself and get rid of this loser.

I don’t think anything passionate would happen in that moment. But I could also see Soap in the middle of him criticizing your toxic boyfriend, you shutting him up with a kiss. Now…that could easily go sideways with someone like Soap. He’s very much impulsive at times, and I think that would win out. Soap would totally kiss you back and not allow you to pull away from him again until you’re…satisfied.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Breakup status: Tumultuous, eventually mellowing to mutual understanding afterward.

Would listen to you rant without interrupting. He would not ask any clarifying or follow up questions.

When you have it all out of your system, his response is simple: break up with him. Simon is direct—could even say blunt depending on the situation, and he would absolutely be that way in this scenario.

He makes it clear that you’re obviously not happy and that the relationship is making you miserable. He might even lay it out plainly, stating only the facts, sliding into that mindset when he’s in the field, thinking about all scenarios and problem-solving while doing so.

Internally, he’s absolutely ecstatic that your current boyfriend is a garbage heap of a human being. He will see this as an opportunity to slip right back into your life if he plays this right. Sure, the two of you aren’t together anymore, but he’s not over it. Simon is possessive and territorial to the core. Totally still considers you his.

Will absolutely make up a reason to come over, and it will likely fall under the “I’m looking out for you” or “trying to protect you from him” insisting that your boyfriend could escalate and he won’t allow you to potentially be in harm’s way.

When he arrives, Simon immediately turns soft and attentive in just the way you like. He gives you his full attention, doesn’t lecture, and offers plenty of physical touch.

The physical touches turn…well, I’ll save that for the full fic. But it is a reminder of how you’ve always been his and you just need to realize it.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @miaraei

[rosabell14]

The hunters of Artemis, Reyna, and Asexuality in Riordan's writing

I kinda started thinking about this since Reyna became a hunter. I could never articulate why I hated this Choice. I was asexual after all. Shouldn't I be happy about this rep? We Ace people barely get any after all. Then I realized that it's because I just didn't like the hunters as ace representation. And I didn't need to be grateful for mediocrity.

You want to know why the hunters of Artemis suck in general? And as Ace rep specifically? Because Riordan did not write them with that mindset.

Like people are so busy hailing this man as the king of representation in literature(blegh) that they forgot how heteronormative and white(sometimes racist) the original series was. Y'all really think this man was thinking about writing asexuals in the year 2007? Get real. What Riordan was doing was a white man trying to write feminism and failing (there's a reason most of his female characterization of female characters boils down to tough "not like other girls" characters who are dicks to the boys around them yet also to the girls around them if they're jealous)

Now onto the hunters.

The hunters when first presented in TTC are not a group of asexuals but rather religious celibates. Fantasy Pegan nuns if you may. The first problem arises when their ages are brought up.

"Then the archers came from the woods. They were girls, about a dozen of them. The youngest was maybe ten. The oldest, about fourteen..."

Remember, before ToA gave us Emmie and Jo, the hunters WERE all young girls. Now why in the world are they so young? Especially when in the actual myths, the hunters could come from any age whatsoever? Well the reason is a doozy.

"Are you surprised by my age?" she asked.

"Uh… a little."

"I could appear as a grown woman, or a blazing fire, or anything else I want, but this is what I prefer. This is the average age of my Hunters, and all young maidens for whom I am patron, before they go astray."

"Go astray?" I asked.

"Grow up. Become smitten with boys. Become silly, preoccupied, insecure. Forget themselves."

Hooo boy. What a way to phrase it. Going astray. Losing themselves. This kinda confirms that the reason why Artemis goes after young girls specifically is because she only wants girls who have yet to finish puberty. Girls have yet to discover their own sexuality. Now I'm not a representative of Asexuals everywhere, but I'm pretty sure most of us don't discover our sexuality at the age of ten. Let alone have the maturity to decide to become celibates about it. And let me reiterate: celibacy is not sexuality. Sure asexual people CAN choose to be celibates but it's not the same thing at all. In fact Zoe and Thalia are big cases for this. Both of them had liked men before(herakles and luke) but joined for their own reasons. Thalia to escape the prophecy and Zoe out of heartbreak. Hell, Bianca herself is mostly swayed by the idea of having no responsibility and a new family.

Now Rick does another thing that goes against the myths. The exclusion of make hunters. Artemis frequently hung around or taught male hunters who respected her. Daphnis, Scamandrius, freaking Hippolytus whom Artemis greatly cared about. Oh but we need to come up with bullshit reasons why Nico can't just join the hunt with his sisters so the hunters of Artemis are all: Ewww men. Also note how at no point does Riordan mention people who fall in love with women.

Now the next point is the oath itself. Artemis says this:

"What oath?" I said.

"To forswear romantic love forever," Artemis said. "To never grow up, never get married. To be a maiden eternally."

When I tell you that Emmy and Joe were retcons . Rick was freaking INSISTENT on the hunters being kids. Also note the three points: to never fall in love, to never get married, to stay a maiden.

I mean I think I don't need to explain why obsessing over the virginity of young girls is creepy. Does Riordan think girls older than fourteen can't keep it in their pants? And let me be adamant here Riordan only cares about the virginity Clause here. He mentions falling in love and marriage because he sees them inherently intertwined with sex.

Now onto the wording of the oath itself:

'I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis. I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.'

I mean you might be able to interpret men here as mankind and therefore excluding women as well. But I have many reasons to believe that Riordan didn't even CONSIDER women as a possibility(someone inform this man that lesbians existed smh 😞). Also note that falling in love is not mentioned in the actual oath but maidenhood is.

Now onto the next big issue. Percy Jackson's Greek gods and its chapter on Artemis. It basically confirms all of my problems.

"IT’S NOT THAT ARTEMIS HATED ALL MEN, just most of them. From the moment she was born, she knew one critical fact: Guys are kinda gross."

No mention of girls. In this chapter Percy(Rick) brings up Artemis' disdain for dudes over and over again.

“Let me be a maiden forever, Father,” Artemis said, twirling her finger in Zeus’s beard. “I never want to get married.---- But you can grant me a bunch of followers: ocean nymphs, river nymphs, wood nymphs—what the heck, how about mortal girls, too? Any girls who want to join me can become my followers, as long as they remain maidens like me. They should probably make the decision when they’re about nine years old, before they get interested in boys, because after that, they’ll be all distracted and of no use to me.”

Yikes yikes yikes. Ladies and gentlemen the age has been lowered to 9. Freaking 9. Also I guess girls older than that don't need Artemis' protection then? (the real problem is that older/married girls should be out of Artemis's jurisdiction and under the protection of other gods like Hera, Hestia, and Ares. But Hestia is barely there. Hera is terrible and the Amazons also suck)

Now when I tell you that Artemis' big point was about virginity, I mean it. This actually has mythological evidence.

The myths actually DO mention what happens when female hunters fall in love. Rhodopis and Euthynicus were two hunters who offended Aphrodite by choosing a chaste life so she had Eros make them fall in love. However note that they weren't booted out of the hunters for falling in love, but rather after having sex in a cave. THAT was what Artemis took offense to.

Another myth is the story of Aura. A huntress who offended Artemis by comparing their breasts(Greek mythology am I right?). Saying that her breast were better than Artemis' because they were smaller and hey maybe that means that Artemis isn't actually a maiden. Artemis punishes her by making her lose her VIRGINITY. She goes to nemesis for revenge. Nemesis goes to Eros who makes Dionysus fall in love with Aura and when Aura refuses his advances he ties her up and... Yeah you can guess where I'm going with this.

But hey! Those myths aren't in the Greek gods book. You know which myth is? The myth of C(K)allisto. And this one angers me so much I want to chew on the drywall.

The way Riordan writes it. Zeus turns himself into Artemis, brings Kallisto's guards down with the disguise, gets close to her and then when Kallisto REJECTS Artemis' supposed advances, forces himself on her. I need to say this again. Kallisto does not fall in love, she isn't seduced, she does not break her oath. But we still need a reason for her to be yeeted out of the hunters so her lack of maidenhood it is

“You were my favorite,” Artemis said. “If you had come to me immediately, I could have helped you. I would have found you a rich, handsome husband and let you settle into a new life in the city of your choice. I would have allowed you to retire from the Hunt with honor. You could have gone in peace. Zeus’s assault was not your fault.”

Kallisto sobbed. “But I didn’t want to lose you! I wanted to stay!”

Artemis felt like her heart was breaking, but she couldn’t show it. She had rules about her followers. She couldn’t allow those rules to be broken, not even by her best friend. “Kallisto, your crime was keeping the secret from me. You dishonored me, and your sisters of the Hunt, by not being honest. You defiled our company of maidens when you were not a maiden yourself. That I cannot forgive.”

I want to slap this man so hard he flies to the opposite side of the universe. We are not here to blame victims of assault guys! Except we are! But with extra steps. If you get attacked, it's not your fault, but If you are too scared to admit the truth then you deserve to lose your only safe space and turn into a bear. Oh nooooo Kallisto DEFILED Artemis' company by being an icky non virgin. The moment you lose your virginity even if it's not your fault you get punished. But not because I'm gross but because YOU lied. How terrible! And he expects us to feel for ARTEMIS???

But rosabell! This is how things go in the myths. What was uncle Rick (bleghhhh) supposed to do? I don't know... Choose a different version of the story? There are versions were Zeus/Hera are the ones who transform Kallisto into a bear. There are versions where Kallisto actively CHOOSES to sleep with Artemis. Granted it's still assault because she's being lied to but at least then, she'd have a degree of autonomy in the events. At least Artemis could rightfully accuse her of breaking her oath. But noooo, Riordan doesn't know lesbians exist. He actively makes Zeus into a canonical Ra*ist. Why is he on the throne again?

(the fact that this book came out AFTER HoH y'all 😭)

Once again, Riordan sees maidenhood(virginity)/love/marriage as intertwined. This is NOT what being on the aroace spectrum means. You can fall in love but not have sex. You can have sex but not fall in love. You can have sex AND still be an asexual. You can be married and still be a "maiden". Riordan doesn't get to claim to be such a progressive ally for retconning the hunters in 2017, TEN years after he first introduced the hunters because he suddenly remembered that lesbians exist.

Or more like because he doesn't know what to do with his female characters. The hunters more than anything are Riordan's heroine dumping ground. If you don't want it put them in relationships, either kill them(Bianca whose main purpose is to die) or make them eternal virgins(the hunters, Rachel). The fact that some people genuinely think that Calypso should have joined the hunters astound me. Girl suffered for years because of the gods and you all think that the best thing outside of Leo for her(not that I like Caleo) is to become a servant to the gods? Because you can't perceive a female character doing anything else if she's not in a relationship. Like with Thalia, this at least made sense on a strategic level because she didn't want to reach sixteen. Oh but we also don't know what else to do with her so she needs to want to be a hunter after the war is over so we give her a half-assed argument with Luke and now she can be all: wah wah Zoe you were totally right about boys. And the cherry on the cake is that she doesn't even get to be in the final confrontation with Luke or say goodbye to him because of a freaking STATUE. And after pjo her personality becomes Zoe 2.0 and her and Jason get ONE measly meeting.

When I first spoke of not liking Renya joining the hunters this is what I mean. Riordan had so many options with Reyna. Why did she have to leave her esteemed position which she worked so hard for? Two boys rejected her? Why couldn't she go reconnect with her sister more then? She could have joined the Amazons. But nooo Riordan was so allergic to the fans asking him wether she could be Bi or a lesbian. For the stupidest reasons too? Oh Reyna being a lesbian would come off as stereotypical because she got rejected by two guys beforehand! My dude, do you think people don't say the same thing about us who are on the aroace spectrum? That we say we are aro/ace because we got rejected before? Come up with a better excuse next time.

My brother in Christ couldn't even allow Reyna to talk about her sexuality and whatnot. It couldn't even be fully about her. No. He had to turn Reyna into his own mouthpiece admonishing the EVILLLL fans who may have shipped Thalia and Renya. He literally had her say the word "shipping". How cringe can you get? And then he had the audacity to admonish the fans by saying: Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?

It's a sentiment I agree with but coming from this man, it's extremely hypocritical? I don't know Richard maybe because YOU are obsessed with shipping? No character can escape your shipping hands unless they're eternal virgins or dead. You literally turned the Argo2 into Noah's ark2. So much attention focused on shipping that the seven barely felt like friends.

Why does Reyna need to join the hunters? She can choose to not relationship without having to become a servant to female Peter pan.

This is actually a really adequate metaphor when you consider that Emmie and Jo say that they have not met Artemis in YEARS and Apollo mentions that the two of them were lucky she let them LIVE. god can you imagine joining Artemis when you are 9? At an age when you have still not finished maturimg cognitively and therefore shouldn't be trusted on taking a freaking celibacy vow(were you even given the talk yet that age) and after 70 years you decide you want to leave? If you're lucky Artemis will part with you on good terms but SIKES every person you probably knew before joining is now dead. Where is THAT angsty Bianca fic?

Speaking of Bianca. How she was handled also angers me. In another post, I've already talked about how the hunters barely gave her adequate information before letting her join.

How Zoe was the main reason for her death. Zoe KNEW that at least 2 people might die in the quest she was given and yet she decided to bring the least experienced girl to the quest and couldn't even watch her properly.

But you know what else pisses me off? The fact that THEY should have been the one to tell Nico about his sister's death. I've always hated how Chiron made Percy the CHILD tell Nico the other CHILD about his sister dying. But more than anyone, it should have been the hunters' responsibility. Bianca was THEIR responsibility. She died in a quest to save Artemis. The least they could do was tell her remaining family of her fate. The Doylist reason of course is that we need to kickstart Nico and Percy's complicated relationship and have Percy discover that Nico is a son of Hades. But in universe, the fact that they immediately fuck off from the camp upon regrouping makes them come off as extremely selfish. We don't even know if Bianca was given a funeral by them or not. We see Artemis being upset about Zoe but we never see her react to the news of losing Bianca.

[erenjaegerwifee]

Your Excuse To See Me

Request by: @twilightlover2007

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x Fem!Reader

Summary: Deacon's case takes him to your bookshop.

Warnings: none, fluff,

Word Count: 2.4k

Disclaimer: all my characters are aged-up! If this makes you uncomfortable please do not interact with my account or any of my notes.

Main M.List | Deacon M.List

“Hey deac” Luca spoke up as Deacon entered the locker rooms. “Morning guys” he replied greeting the rest of the team. “Tan was just telling us about how Bonnie is jealous” Chris spoke up while they all got ready for their shift. “Bonnie is not jealous; I’m telling you guys she isn’t like that” Tan tries to defend. “What happened that everyone things she jealous?” Deacon asked.  

“Last night we went on a date and when we were walking to our apartment in the hallway this girl was getting harassed by this idiot and I helped her out. After he left, she told us she just moved in and it happen to come up she also spoke Cantonese. I happen to mention it was so rare to find another person who speaks it by coincidence and after that Bonnie’s mood has been off. She won’t talk, she’s basically doing everything she can to avoid making eye contact with me.”  

Deacon hisses feigning pain when he hears the story, “hate to break it to you man but that’s jealousy. I can’t believe you can’t wrap your head around this, she is jealous because that woman who speaks your language probably shares your religion and values growing up in a Chinese American home is now living next door to you. She feels less than now that she has someone to compare herself to.”  

Tan took a second to process his words before he finally understands how it all went wrong, he never even thought Bonnie would think like that. “How are you still single? You should have girls falling at your feet” Tan jokes.  

“Jokes on you bro, he does” Street says making everyone laugh as they walk out of the locker room to meet Hondo. Before much words can be exchanged, Hicks walks in with a case assigned to the team. “20-David, we’ve been handed over a case, apparently the financial crimes and the narcotics division can’t solve it and they want us to wrap up this up. Also, we have intel the man doing the money laundering are armed and dangerous.” 

Hicks goes on to explain the details of the case to the team, saying a man who supposedly goes by the name Authur Lopez has been moving money around through other people’s business. He also may be using them as a stash house. The problem is no one can seem to figure out which business he is using to clean his money. “They know he’s dealing but they can’t prove it, we need to find the proof to bring this guy in” 

“We may have a lead though, detective Chase that was previous the lead on this case said he found Auther has an old high school girlfriend who recently moved to town, we aren’t sure if they have had any contact but it’s worth checking out, she might know somewhere he might hide” Hicks finishes up letting the team take the case. Street and Tan both start researching your home and workplace addresses and they found something. 

“She owned a bookshop, just opened a couple months ago, around the same time we caught wind of Authur and around the time she moved into town, her business could be the one she’s using, she sells books, it can be a good cover if her business gets traffic, and judging by the location I think she’d be doing well.” Street says as he pulls up the location of your shop on the screen for the team to see.  

“I found her home address, it’s an apartment complex about 3 blocked from the shop.” Chris says and pulls the location for them to see. “Okay Street, Tan with me we’ll check out her apartment. Luca, Chris and Deacon you can check out her shop she might be there, she what she knows if she’s willing to talk.” Honda hands out their assignments and everyone jumps in a car their destination.   

When Deacon, Chris and Luca arrive at the bookshop they walk in and don’t immediately see anyone around. They walk a little deeper into the shop and you step out from one of the isles the shop isn’t so big that someone can hide, unless they are in the back room. “Hi there, is there something I can help you with?” you say in a sweet voice.  

At the sound of your voice Deacon whips his head, he stutters a bit when he sees you for the first time. Your hair fell curly down your back, you wore jeans that fit your hips but flared down over your ankles with cute brown sandals, you wore a gorgeous floral top that complimented your skin tone so perfectly. “Hi, Ms. Y/n? I’m Sergeant Kay, this is officers Alonso and Luca, we are here to ask you a few questions.”  

You look up at the handsome sergeant standing in front of you and your brain almost lags. “Sure, happy to help” you smile at him clasping your hands together. You gesture to the chairs and small sofas scattered around the room for them to sit and you do the same. “Ms. Y/n, we believe a man you know has been involved in some illegal activity and we wanted to know if you had any information you could share” the girl who’s name you learned was Chris spoke up. 

“Who?’ you asked her, “The name Auther Lopez ring a bell?” Luca asked you. Authur Lopez, you were never able to look at men the same after him, he was your high school sweetheart. You were going to marry him. That was until you found out he was dealing in high school and left him. “A couple months ago he found my shop, said he was keeping tabs on me and asked if I would consider giving him a job. Auther and I dated in high school, I broke up with him when I found out he was dealing, not only that but he was on them. I’m not sure what I never asked. When I hired him, he promised he was clean and so I agreed. Actually, his shift is meant to start in about 10 minutes, he has to come here.” 

“What is he involved in?” You asked them directly your question to no one in particular. “We believe he dealing again, or maybe he never stopped who knows. We need to bring him in a find the location of his stash house before he can distribute his product.” Luca spoke to you.  

“You’re welcome to wait here until he shows then, I had no idea he was still dealing” Luca made a call to someone while Chris asked to look around the shop and you agreed. Deacon didn’t move though, he sat right there in front of you the whole time. “Are you back together?” his voice was quite as he spoke but you heard him, “No, I’m not interested in starting things back up with him, he has done nothing but disappoint me, I only gave him the job because he said he needed it and he was getting clean.” you matched him tone while you looked at him. 

He was so pretty you could barely take your eyes off him, if you weren’t looking at his chest printing out in the tight SWAT t-shirt you were looking at his chocolate brown eyes, if not that, the you have never seen a man look so good with a beard and that usually wasn’t something you’d go for, the hints of grey just did something to your brain.  

Deacon wasn’t any different, he was too busy staring at you to realize you were staring back, he admired the way your curls look so full but not frizzy at the same time, the way he so easily got lost in your beautiful eyes, and let’s not talk about your figure, he has never seen anyone look so beautiful before.  

“So, Sergeant Kay-” 

“Deacon, call me Deacon” 

“Deacon, you’re a SWAT sergeant what is that like?” you smile when you ask him. He was confused for a quick second how did you know he was in SWAT? Until he remembered he was working, he was dressed in uniform. “It’s good, I like it, it’s dangerous and it’s a lot of work but it pays off in the end. So, books?” he returned the question.  

“Yea, I've always been a reader” you giggle as you continue, “It’s very calming to read, takes my mind off things when I’m stressed, a way to pretend you’re someone else.” 

“How could you want to be someone else?” his tone was breathy, it had a hint of a chuckle in it, it made you blush. It was so easy to get caught up in him you forgot all about what he was here for. Luca walked back into the shop; the noise of the chimes pulled you back to reality. He was met with the sight of you and deacon staring at each other with flirtatious smiles and cleared his throat to get your attention. 

“The others arrested Authur on his way here, they have him in custody. Hondo said meet back at HQ” Chris moves out with Luca and Deacon was about to follow them, “Wait!” you stopped him resting you hand on his arm to stop him from walking. You ran into one of the isles and grabbed a book off the shelf, “Here, an excuse for you to come back that isn’t work related. Now you can go” you smiled at him sweetly and he chuckled at your sweet gesture. “I’ll take you up on that.”  

Deacon walked out the bookshop with a wide grin in his face and he sees Chris and Luca waiting for him with matching grins, seems Luca had filled Chris in and they both clocked the book he didn’t walk in there with. “Ouu someone’s got a crush” Chris said in a sing song tone.  

A few days later the case was wrapped up and Deacon was sitting on a comfortable chair in the SWAT main room with his legs propped up as he read the book you gave him. He isn’t you paid attention to the book you handed in when you grabbed it but it was an interesting book.  

He has been teased non-stop by the team since they all heard about what happened, no one can see him sitting with that book in his hand without saying something about you. They even went as far as to make a bookmark with your face on it and stick it in his book so every time he opened it, he would see you. It was entertaining the say the least but now that the book was in his hand and finished, he felt nervous to see you again, this time he had no motive to hide behind other than he just wanted to see your pretty face again. 

“Hey Deac, we’re gonna hit up Luca’s food truck, do you wanna come with?” Chris asked Deacon as she packed up her things at the end of the shift. “I’d love to but, I have to swing by the bookshop and return this book y/n gave me” He waited patiently for the teasing and right on cue, “You going ask her out?” Chris was grinning like a school girl.  

“I want to, I will, I’m gonna...maybe”  

“Sergeant Kay is nervous? There is a first for everything. But seriously all jokes aside, I saw the way you looked at each other. She will say yes, no need to doubt yourself” Chris smiled at him and punched his shoulder as they walk out of the locker room.  

Deacon rushed to his car saying a quick goodbye to the team and driving to the bookshop before you closed. He opened the door and say you writing something sitting on a high chair behind the desk. “Hey” he said with a small smile.  

You look up from your book and smiled when you saw him, “You came back” you said matching his smile as it grew larger, “I guess my excuse to come see you worked, great book by the way, never thought I’d be into enemies to lovers but apparently I am” he chuckled and put the book down on the desk. 

“I’m glad you liked it; I wasn’t sure you were the type” you giggled. There was a moment of silence between you. A moment where you just stared at each other, admiring. “I have to close up the shop now, it was really nice of you to come back Deacon, it was nice to see you” Deacon smiled at your words knowing exactly how you feel.  

“It was nice to see you too.... hey do you want to join me for some dinner? I know a great food truck not far from here, we could swing by and get something” you wanted to burst with happiness, you didn’t think he had it in him to ask you out but he did.  

“Of course I’ll go with you, let me just grab my purse and lock up” you smiled you sweet smile at him and you giddily ran to the back room to get your stuff, hearing him laugh at your antics.  

When he opened the car door for you at the food truck you smiled and took a big inhale. He watched you fall in love with the smell of the food and you walked right up to the menu, “I don’t know what to get” you said to him, “Order for me”  

Deacon was about to speak when he heard his name being called out, his team was still here. He turned his head in sync with yours and watched a bunch of people walk up to you both. You instinctively stepped closer to Deacon but you quickly recognized Chris and Luca from earlier in the week.  

“I see you asked her out” Chris said. 

“I can’t believe it took him so long” another boy said who introduced himself as Jim Street 

“Oh, give him a break, it’s been a week” their team leader spoke up, Hondo. Their comments made you blush and you hid your face with your hands giggling. Deacon put his arm around your shoulder to shield you from the teasing while they laughed at the situation wholeheartedly. You're so happy Sergeant Kay came to your bookshop.  

🔹I hope you all enjoyed reading! I’d love for anyone to Reblog my work, Like and Comment so it can be shared! I’ve been wanting to write for Deacon for a while and I’m finally starting!

🔹On another note. Deacon is hot as fuck. And I want to write him in a nsfw kind of way. Eventually not atm I’d like some feedback on how you would feel after reading my work.

Taglist:

@twilightlover2007 @fluentmoviequoter @just-a-girl-who-wrytes @spnshortcake

[starry-eyes-love]

Lord of the Manor

Main Masterlist     Joel Miller Masterlist

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader- AU, no outbreak

Summary |  Joel Miller is Lord of the Manor, and you are the woman who has been helping him for years in raising his two daughters. Joel, holding a matchmaking party, decides to dance with every maiden in the room, everyone but you. After seeing him do this, you are exhausted and jealous, so you leave the party early. Joel notices your absence and follows you down the dimly lit hallway, where you confess your feelings for him. It ends with him telling you he wants you in his bed.

Word Count: 4.2 K

Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI, Smut

Language, M! (Handjob)- you walk in as Joel is pleasuring himself, kissing, sexual tension, slow burn, references to customs in society with Lord of the Manor, the lady (you) is common folk, a slight sprinkle of angst throughout (but it ends with a happy ending), kiss and reference to sex.

A/N: This started as a drabble, and then this happened. It got away from me, but that's ok. I’m thinking about continuing their story, but I can't decide. In the meantime, Enjoy!

Images by CAImages Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Joel slowly backed you up against the wall, caging you against his body as his hands slowly roamed over your curves. He moved down your neck, softly kissing and nipping your sensitive flesh, enticing moans from your mouth. “Shhh, you got to be quiet, baby. I don't want anyone else to hear you. Those moans are just for me.”

You hated parties ever since you were a little girl. Women always took hours dressing, fussing over whether a proper suitor would ask them for their hand at a dance. Meanwhile, on the dance night, men would stand and ogle over women as if they were prized cattle for auction. You had convinced yourself for the longest time that attending these parties would be a mistake, especially since you were never the one chosen for a dance. Yet here you were, fussing over your hair and makeup because Joel Miller, Lord of the Manor, extended you an invitation.

You weren’t like all the other maidens at the party, coming from rich fathers, lords that ruled over the lands.  You were a common folk woman, taken in by your father’s friend to be raised in a proper household after your parents died.  Your foster father felt guilty just abandoning you when you were young when his best friend died of a horrible fever that swept through your village and created a lot of orphans.  But that was what you were: an orphan, someone without living parents, and someone none of these men thought suitable as a wife or even for a simple dance.  

You thought that maybe things would be different with Joel Miller, especially since recent events, but as the night went on, you started to feel your hope dwindling. Like every other dance you attended, you found yourself stuck on the side of the dance floor. No man approached you or requested a dance from you all night, especially Joel.

Joel Miller was an eligible bachelor and a man of many talents.  He was older and a widower, his wife dying young while she gave birth to twins, both daughters, Ellie and Sara.  Joel, raising his girls on his own, had stepped away from the duties of the Kingdom to choose an ordinary life as a farmer for a while.  But two years ago, when his father became ill, he was called back to the kingdom to perform his duties as the only living heir to his father’s kingdom. 

Joel wasn’t like the other men here; he was older, a man in his later 30s, strong and capable.  Word had it that when he took a woman to bed, he focused on her pleasure instead of his own, something that was unheard of, especially in this day and age.  He treated women as equals and couldn’t stand when anyone did anything less. Most days, he was seen in the courtyard with his daughters, with light and playful banter going back and forth between them.  He cared, and everyone knew it.  He also hasn’t picked a suitable wife, which many had frowned on with him. But how can you force love?

You had gotten to know Joel over the last several years, being the woman who helped raise his daughters when duty called him back to his kingdom. You were always pleased to speak with him, and he always treated you with mutual respect and dignity, often unheard of in these parts of the world.  Over the past six months, Joel teased you, joked with you, and even looked at you like only a husband would look at his wife.  

At first, you were shocked to see Joel looking at you with stern eyes, drinking you in like you were his favorite meal. But when you accidentally walked into his bedroom, returning laundry, and found him sitting on his bed, stroking himself to obtain pleasure, you discovered that you were no longer the only one who was nervous.

“Oh, I am so sorry, Lord Miller. I didn’t know you were here,” you had said, shocked at the sight before you.  Joel was sitting at the edge of his bed, thrusting up into his hand, trying to pleasure himself in the most personal way.  His cock was thick and large, swollen with veins that ran down the underside of it.  His balls were plump and hung heavy below him, desperately needing to be drained. The sexual tension was thick in the air, especially when you glanced down and found Joel throbbing in his hand, probably seconds away from relief before you walked in.

Earlier, Joel was with you in the garden, and you teased him about his love for roses even though you knew he had planted them for you.  The light banter was fun back and forth, with somewhat of a charged sexual energy in the air.  You had suddenly injured yourself, cutting yourself on the thorns as you pulled weeds from the ground. Joel stepped up immediately and took your hand to examine the injury. When he determined that you were alright, he kissed your hand sweetly and told you to be more careful.  As Joel left, you noticed him re-adjusting himself in the front and disappearing in the Manor.  That was 15 minutes ago, and now you were face to face with a man who was moments away from his pleasure release.

As you stood there, you stared at Joel as he panted, holding himself on the brink of release. You didn’t know what you should do or how you should behave. It was obvious that you were the cause of some of his pent-up frustration. You wanted to put your mouth on it and feel it swell against your tongue, but such behavior was not deemed worthy by someone like you. But yet here you stood, looking at Joel panting, unable to look away.

Joel flared his nostrils, breathing deep as he twitched in his hand. It had been a long time since he had properly bedded a woman, and right now, he desperately wanted to fuck your cunt. You were the cause of this moment.  You had been teasing him all morning, and then you got hurt, and he helped you.  He barely could contain himself before he got in his room and ripped off his pants to start thrusting in his hand. Joel has wanted you for quite some time but has never voiced it.  But now, you were standing there looking at him with wide eyes, pupils dilated slightly from your arousal.  Joel knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help the statement when he heard you apologize again for what you saw. 

“Joel, I-”

“Baby, don’t apologize, please. Now, either get over here or shut the damn door when you leave.”  Joel didn’t mean to snap, but he was right on the edge, borderline of it being painful. Joel had already edged himself a few times and desperately needed to come. When Joel saw you momentarily hesitate, he stood up and approached you.  Feeling embarrassed, you immediately retreated and left, gently shutting the door behind you.  As soon as Joel touched himself again, he was coming all over his hand at the memory of you standing there looking at him with wide, lust-filled eyes.  That night, you made yourself come three times on your fingers alone, just at the thought of Joel’s cock inside of you.

It had been a week since you walked in on Joel in his bedroom. At first, you tried to avoid Joel, but eventually, you couldn’t, especially when he requested you to bring him his supper in his room as he worked.

“Please forgive me, my lady, for the other day. I don’t know what came over me,” Joel had said, apologizing for his behavior as he glanced at the kingdom maps on his desk in his room.  

“It’s okay, Joel, I don’t mind,” was all you could respond. How can you tell him you’ve never come as hard as you did from seeing him? Within the week, everything was back to normal between you.

Another week passed before Joel announced that he would host another dance again. Joel didn’t ask you to work the event this time; instead, he asked you to attend as one of his guests. You had agreed, hopeful that maybe this time he’d be the one to ask you for a dance.  

So, like all those times before, you had spent all day getting ready.  You had several lovely dresses in your wardrobe to choose from, all gifts from your foster parents. 

While growing up, you were required to attend dances as a guest, hoping that a suitor would eventually ask you to dance one day.  But as the years ticked by, more and more men stopped looking your way at these dances.  The biggest reason was because everyone knew you were adopted and were not of pure royal blood. Ordinary women, or common folk, were never allowed to marry those with money.  You knew Joel didn’t take societal customs seriously, so you were hopeful that tonight would be the night he’d ask for your hand at a dance.

But as the night went on, it appeared your dream wouldn’t come true.  You watched Joel dance with every other woman except for you.  To his defense, he never once walked up and asked for anyone's hand at a dance. All the women introduced to Joel were from the maiden’s brothers or fathers, hoping Joel would settle down and wed one of them. Being a true gentleman, Joel never argued with the men, and he always smiled at the women while extending his hand for just one dance.  But he never danced with you or even glanced at you once tonight. You were invincible to everyone, including the man you secretly had a crush on. 

You assumed you could just leave after seeing Joel escort another woman to the dance floor for another song. You slowly backed away, finally turning to go after a few steps. When you got to the hallway to head back to the sleeping quarters, you paused and hoped you'd find someone standing there asking you if you could have a dance. But when no one turned to look at you, you knew that tonight was a mistake. No one wants to dance with a commoner like me.

And that was what you were, a commoner, a woman men weren’t interested in because you had no royal blood.  It didn’t matter that your foster parents were of royal blood. You were still just ordinary folk. And ordinary folk do not get to dance with the Lord of the Manor, no matter who that person is.

As you walked down the dimly lit hallway, the soft murmur of the party downstairs slowly faded away into silence as the heaviness of your heart took root within you. You were dealing with a turmoil of emotions. Your heart ached with exhaustion and jealousy of the events from this evening and how everyone else appeared to have a good time. 

You wished you could have danced by yourself, but laws and customs forbid a woman to dance without a proper escort from a man. A woman also cannot go up to a man to ask for a dance, or else you would have asked Joel. The only people who could request a man to dance were other men extending the hand of their daughter or sister, and you didn't have anyone like that around for you anymore. You, indeed, were all alone in this world.

You were about halfway down the hallway when you stopped to lean against the cool wall, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The air was heavy this time of year with the scent of roses from the garden. Usually, the smell would calm you and remove any heartache you'd have. But not tonight. It felt almost suffocating tonight as it reminded you of what you couldn’t have, Joel.  

When Joel heard that roses were your favorite flower, he ordered his gardener to plant different colors and species around the entire manor. Usually, the gardens would wipe away your tears when you felt lonely, but tonight, they were the cause of your heartache and tears, and because of this, you silently wept. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear his approach. 

“Are you well, my lady?” Joel said softly, approaching you slowly in the dimly lit hallway. Your head was in your hands, and your eyes were wet from your tears. When you lifted your head to look at Joel, he took in your face and immediately felt concerned for your appearance.

"Why are you crying, my lady? Did someone hurt you?" Joel asked, his voice gentle yet firm.  He wanted to know who had upset you, and if he found out that another man had placed his hands wrongly on you, Joel knew he would end that man’s life himself.

You lifted your head higher to face Joel. Your emotions won over to reason in answering him appropriately. "Do you need to ask, do you not know?" Your voice trembled, frustration spilling out before you could stop it. 

"I’ve watched you all night, Joel. You were smiling, laughing, and entertaining every suitable maiden who batted an eyelash at you. Do I need to remind you of our customs and what a Lord must do, especially when choosing a bride?”

“I did my duty as Lord of this Manor. I danced with every woman attending tonight.” Joel spoke, confused as to why you would ask him your question.

“Really? Do you honestly enjoy treating me like this?”

Joel’s eyes widened, surprise mixed with his frustration flashing across his face. “What in the hell are you talking about?"

"All night, Joel. All night, I’ve been a silent spectator to your affections. Do you even care?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do I care? What the- I’ve danced with every available maiden tonight from God's know where. I’ve done my duty.  Who gives you the right to criticize me for my actions when I’ve done nothing wrong, especially when I am Lord of this Manor.”

"But you did!" you interrupt, frustration boiling over. "I was standing there all night.”

“Tell me, woman, to whom did I neglect my duties? Tell me. I’ve danced with every woman in that hall, every woman who is worthy of a man like me, Lord of the Manor.” Joel shouts at you, not understanding why he is entertaining this argument. 

Joel Miller was always someone who spoke with reason and with knowing the purpose of the discussion.  But right now, Joel had no idea of the purpose of your anger or frustration nor where this argument stemmed from.  Somehow, this argument felt very personal, even though it shouldn’t have.  Joel was the Lord of the Manor, and he demanded respect.  It puzzled him why he seemed to tolerate this disrespectful behavior from someone who wasn’t even his wife.  A woman should never raise her voice to a man. The only time she could, if she could, would be when she was talking to her children or husband, and you were neither of those. 

“And what am I, Joel, huh? What am I?”

“You’re a woman,” Joel shouted and then froze, finally realizing his mistake.  He danced with every woman attending that was available, everyone but you.  You weren’t there tonight as a working woman.  You wore a beautiful dress with your hair pinned up properly instead of down off your shoulders, and your makeup was neat and stunningly beautiful.  You weren’t wearing your working ensemble, meaning you were a guest at his party.  A guest that he gave a formal invitation to, no less than three weeks prior.

“Do you even know how I feel about you? Do you even see me?” Your voice was trembling with the weight of your confession. "I've felt it for so long, me and you, wanting you to properly see me as the one you could be happy with, a wife. Do you even know how much I love you?"

Silence stretched between you both, lacing the air thick and heavy with it. For a moment, admitting your feelings for Joel felt freeing. But as the silence continued, your heart immediately sank. You realized that maybe Joel didn’t reciprocate those feelings. 

When you glanced up at Joel to look at his face, you noticed that he had a stone-cold look in his eyes. Joel wasn’t saying anything, nostrils flaring, as he ran a hand over his face while taking a step back and exhaling.  When he placed his hands on his hips and shook his head while glancing at the floor, you felt embarrassed at what you had just done. Even though Joel was friendly to you in private, constantly teasing and flirting with you, you were still the help and common folk. And that was something that no man could ever see past.

You momentarily reached for Joel to comfort him, but as you did, you saw that he had taken a step backward, away from you. Your hand froze in mid-air, and you quickly placed it at your side. As the silence continued, you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. 

“Please forgive me, my Lord. I don’t know what came over me tonight for speaking in such a raised voice.”

“And for voicing such inappropriate things to the Lord of the Manor,” Joel said, still not looking up at you.

“Of course, my Lord. Please forgive my words-”

“And your mouth,” Joel mumbled under his breath yet again.

“Yes, of course, my Lord. Please forgive my words and my mouth for speaking out of turn. I don’t know what came over me.”

Then, Joel looked at you and said in a commanding voice, “Make sure you never speak to me like that ever again. I am the Lord of the Manor, and you better remember that before you stand there in my house and accuse me of things you have no right to say. To disrespect me when I’ve never once disrespected you.”

Joel went to step towards you, anger seething in his mind, but as he did, he saw you flinch and take a step back. You were shaking, closing your eyes while saying quickly, “My apologies, my Lord, it won’t happen again. Please, no lesson is required for me to remember this. I’ll- I won’t open my mouth again, please.”

Joel froze mid-stride. What were you talking about? Slowly, Joel touched your chin, tilting it toward his face, giving you the soft but firm command to open your eyes and look at him.  When your eyes finally met his eyes, he saw your fear of being struck by a man. That was something that Joel Miller, Lord of the Manor, never did. Who has hit this woman for just opening her mouth?  

Joel has never once laid a hand on any woman who has worked for him, been related to him, or been in his bed. It truly upset Joel that you have not received the same respect in return. That someone has delivered punishment and force when dealing with you. Joel became angry at thinking someone would strike such a beautiful soul.

As Joel studied you, you felt your cheeks heat in embarrassment. It was one thing for him to glance at you and another to study you so intently, as you wore your emotions on your sleeve.  You glanced down at the floor, submitting to the man before you. Whatever his choice of punishment was going to be, you knew better than to look him straight in the eye.

“Baby, please, look at me,” Joel whispered, gently cupping your cheek.  When you finally glanced back at him, he softly smiled at you. 

“Darlin’, no lesson is required, and for the record, I will never hit you. I- fuck,” Joel whispered, running his thumb over your cheek gently. You were looking at him with such gentle, soft eyes. You wanted him to close the distance and to kiss you, to see you in front of him as the choice of a life and not just someone of hire. 

"Is what you said earlier true? That you love me, baby.” Joel spoke with a soft but steady voice. 

"Yes," you whispered, your throat feeling tight with emotion as another tear slid down your cheek.

It only took two seconds before Joel’s thumb swiped the tear away. He looked at you with such tenderness that it took your breath away. "I had no idea, baby," he murmured before his thumb brushed away another stray tear. "I’ve been a fool, and I’m sorry."

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes at the tenderness he was showing you. "Joel, I—I’ve always seen you, and I'm sorry."

“Shhh, baby, it’s ok,” Joel whispered as he slowly leaned in, giving you ample time to pull away. But you didn't pull away. Instead, you tilted your head up, your heart pounding as Joel’s lips brushed yours in a tentative, gentle kiss. It was a kiss of unspoken emotions, long-suppressed desires, and a future that suddenly seemed possible.

When Joel finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours. "I love you too," Joel said softly, his voice filled with hunger and desire. It was in that moment of his confession that you relaxed. When Joel’s lips met yours again, he gave you a hungry kiss.  Joel licked into your mouth, tilting your head back as he finally claimed your lips the way he did the last time he kissed his wife. Joel had made up his mind; you were the woman for him. He didn't know how it would work with societal customs, but that was not his concern tonight. Tonight, he wanted you in his bed, underneath his body, as he made love to you.

Joel's kisses were full of lust and passion, full of emotion for denying you for so long. And you met him with equal hunger back, wrestling your tongue against his, telling him what you were feeling through actions.

Joel slowly backed you up against the wall, caging you against his body as his hands slowly roamed over your curves. He moved down your neck, softly kissing and nipping your sensitive flesh, enticing moans from your mouth.

“Shhh, you got to be quiet, baby. I don't want anyone else to hear you. Those moans are just for me.” Joel whispered as he slowly trailed his tongue up your throat, softly kissing and nipping your neck. 

“Please, my Lord. I can't; it feels too good.” You mumbled as you let out another soft moan. 

Joel growled at your admission, his cock impossibly hard against his pants. It's been a long time since he's had this much of a reaction to a woman who was fully clothed. He needed you underneath him, in his bed right now, but he was trying to be a gentleman.

Joel gave you a few more passionate kisses with his mouth, and when you whimpered against him again, he felt his resolve crumbling.

“My lady,” Joel whispered as he rested his forehead against yours, “you will be the death of me and my gentleman ways if we don't stop.”

Then, Joel took a step back, placing some distance between you both for a moment to clear his head. You straightened yourself, flattening the slightly rumpled dress. 

“My apologies, my Lord, I-”

Joel raised his hand, silencing you from continuing. After another moment of silence, he took a long breath before continuing. “I am a man of honor, and I will not disgrace the honor of a woman in the hallway of my manor by engaging in inappropriate actions that only a man and a woman married should do. But, if I could be so bold as to say, my lady-” 

Joel then slowly reapproached you, gently cupping your cheek as he gave you a tender kiss to your pulse point while whispering, “I want to fuck you in my bed later if you have me.”

As Joel slowly pulled back, he gave you a smirk. He noticed your cheeks were flushed a lovely rosy shade, which was both a combination of arousal and embarrassment at his bold statement. He also wondered if your cunt was dripping wet from the combination of his kisses, language, and the sheer presence of him being around you. 

“But first, my lady, I would like to court you properly. I do not intend to shame your name based on mere animal instinct. But I do intend to bed you properly when the time comes if you'll have me.”

“Yes, my Lord, whatever pleases you,” you whispered, trying to get your heart rate under control again.

“You please me, my lady. Now come, let me escort you back to your bed chambers.”

Joel gave you a delicate kiss to your hand when he delivered you back to your bed chambers, telling you to dream of him. As you closed the door behind you, your heart raced in your chest; you couldn't believe the events that transpired for this evening.

Joel Miller was many things, both kind and gentle but also rough and forceful. You couldn't wait until the moment came when he'd take you in his bed properly. You also couldn't believe it, but you were falling harder for Joel Miller, Lord of the Manor, more each day.

End Story

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 10

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: And we’re back! In today’s episode, we have a very special guest. 😉

Also, just so you guys know, my podcast interview with the Idling in the Impala podcast is now live! For all the timestamps of key moments, fic recs, and SPN writer shoutouts, see this post (you'll find the link to the video there too).

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 6.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, angst, drug use, PTSD, violence, and another big reveal…

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 10: I Need a Hero

Revenge could wait for one more day.

It all can wait, Ben thought. Despite how vehement he was yesterday, today, he was reminded of how good it felt to sleep in a warm bed with a beautiful woman. 

He laid there behind you, on his side. He’d woken up to the sound of music somewhere downstairs, maybe in the dining room.

What time is it? It was hard to remember to keep track of that now, even with the digital clock on the nightstand. It was only midnight, but to his body, it felt like morning.

You were dead asleep. Occasionally you let out soft hums, and other semi-arousing sounds. His lips tugged upward.

Still moans in her sleep.

He drew down the comforter and sheets slowly from your back. He was greeted by smooth skin, except where some marks had been made permanent. His fingers traced carefully over a rough, scarred patch of skin above your hip, as if you had been tased there repeatedly.

His jaw clenched. He could still remember the sounds he used to hear—your screams through the walls of the compound. He remembered when you eventually stopped begging for it all to stop.

“You’re saying this is my fucking fault?!” he said. “Yes! It is your fault. Because you’re too much of a mean, callous, arrogant, entitled, selfish, fucking asshole to see that everybody hates you!” you spat. 

For so long after that day, he hated you. He told himself that he didn’t give a shit about whatever was happening to you, because you clearly didn’t give a shit about him.

But the long months wore on to longer years, alone in the dark. Too often, your words would rattle through his head, reach through his chest with ragged claws. No matter how much he fought it, all he had time to do when he was alone, was think.

He vacillated between stubborn, angry indignation, and rethinking every interaction he had with you, with Countess, the rest of the team, and beyond. Slowly, he allowed himself to retrace his steps. If only in his mind, he began to regret certain things…at least where it came to you.

Ignoring you was both harder and easier, since he couldn’t see you.

That all changed a few days ago.

Eisenstein returned to his cell, but this time he wasn’t alone. Two guards held you bound and gagged. You were just as shocked to see him as he was you.

It felt like he was suspended in time.

He saw the signs of aging in your face, but it didn’t matter. Even now, you were beautiful.

The spell of it broke when they threw you down onto the metal table usually reserved for him. He saw now that they had you in a straitjacket to keep your hands covered. The anger built inside him, almost incandescent in his veins.

“What the fuck is this?”

 The doctor held a glass syringe in his gloved hand. He drew closer to you with slow, measured steps.

A realization soon dawned on Ben, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. He saw your terror, the way you wordlessly pleaded with him, asking for help with your eyes.

Part of him still hated you, but he couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t allow this sick bastard to hurt you again. Not right the fuck in front of him.

You were still his.

His hand traveled down your bare shoulder, over the gentle slope of your side, and down the curve of your hip under the covers. You shifted and hummed, edging toward wakefulness. Ben settled in from behind, protectively embracing his body around yours in a perfect fit. He began kissing along your neck, slowly.

“Hmmm I’m sleeping,” you said, keeping your eyes closed. He smirked. His lips became more insistent, along with his hand spanning your thigh.

“Wake up, then,” he said. He teased the shell of your ear with his tongue, dragged your earlobe between his teeth. You shivered.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you retorted, smiling.

Ben huffed. “Yeah, keep being a fucking brat. That’ll get me to stop.”

His beard rasped against your skin as his lips found a path down the column of your throat. Acquiescing to open your eyes, you sighed, tilting your head back to give him more room. Meanwhile, his cock pressed insistently against your ass.

You smirked and shifted your hips, grinding back against him. “Maybe I like working you up.”

“Oh yeah?” He moved your thigh over his to spread your legs for him. There the warm, blunt tip of his cock pressed at your entrance, nudging you open with shallow thrusts. You moaned in response, reaching back to slip a hand in his hair.

You were a wanton little thing, he thought, even as he reached around to bury his fingers in your pussy. Already finding wetness between your folds, he gathered some of it and rolled your clit smoothly between his fingers. You gasped his name, your hips bearing down against him.

He took the opportunity to sheathe himself all the way inside you, until his hips were snug against your ass. You made a sound of pleasure that had his balls clenching on reflex. Your voice was a curse, even without your powers.

For once, he fucked into you slowly, with long, unhurried strokes that still managed to rock the bed. Ben was surprised the frame and springs hadn’t given up yet.

“You’re fucking mine, you hear me?” he said, close to your ear. He punctuated his words with deeper thrusts. “Say you understand.”

“Yes,” you agreed on a gasp.

“Yes, what?” He laid more tantalizing kisses along your neck and jawline. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” you said, in a coarse whisper. Ben claimed your lips in a kiss, before he kept moving inside you in languid strokes.

You were a moaning mess, your eyes squeezed shut. You grabbed at your breasts and kneaded them yourself, rolling and pinching your nipples. He strummed more insistently on your clit, until he felt your inner walls finally start to throb around him.

Your orgasm hit you in a slow, long wave as you pressed your face into your pillow. And you clenched so impossibly tight on his cock, it triggered his release as well. His arm curled around your middle and pressed you tight against him as he uttered a sharp grunt. He finished hot inside you, panting heavily into your neck afterward.

“Well, good morning,” you quipped, despite trying to catch your breath as well.

Ben’s hazy reverie broke into a chuckle. He dropped a lingering kiss onto your shoulder.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he corrected.

You shrugged. “Whatever.”

When he pulled out of you, you shivered a little. He rolled onto his back, and regardless of the mess in the sheets, you turned over to rest your elbow on his pillow, leaning over him.

“I should probably tell you something,” you said.

He eyed you in suspicion. “What now?” 

You smiled and laid a hand on his chest, dragging your nails through the fuzz there.

“My family’s from Brooklyn, not a small town in Indiana,” you confessed. "Made it up to make me seem more...down to earth. Doe-eyed and likeable."

Ben’s brows shot up. He took a moment to process that information, then he shook his head.

“Fucking figures.” His arm lowered to curl around your lower back, caging you against him.

“I grew up in a brownstone that we had to share with two other families,” you said.

“So you were broke.”

“Yep. When I was born, my family spent all their savings to contract with Vought, to give me Compound V,” you explained. “Their plan was something like, if I became a famous superhero one day, I’d bring us out of our shitty life.”

Ben sighed, shaking his head. “So they pimped you out to Vought.”

“Essentially,” you said. You paused. He could see it was difficult for you, but you talked more about your life—the expectations from your parents, the training, the grueling schedules and the robbing of your childhood. 

“When my mom died, I…I realized just how much they took from me,” you said, gazing up at him. “Isn’t that horrible?”

Again, Ben shook his head. His hand had been caressing up and down your back, but it stopped now. Part of him was still reluctant, but he told you about the biggest lie of his life. That he hadn’t grown up poor or struggling. That his father practically owned half of Pennsylvania, and Ben had been a spoiled rich kid. He’d also gotten kicked out of boarding school after starting a fight.

“My father said I wasn’t worthy of his name,” he said, with a wry turn of his lips. “So I went out, talked to some of his golf buddies in the War department, and got myself into the Vought program. I became Soldier Boy.”

You listened with rapt attention. Not interrupting him, just giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“When I came home after the war, my mother was just as proud as she’d ever been,” he recounted. But he didn’t smile. “My father took a good look at me, maybe for the first time in my life. And you know what he said?”

You gave him a questioning look, silently prodding.

“He said I took a short cut. ‘A real man wouldn’t have cheated,’” he said.

When he eventually met your gaze, you at least didn’t look pitying. Just understanding.

“I guess we both have daddy issues, huh?” you said.

Ben shook his head. Then he eyed you. “You don’t look that surprised by all this.”

You smiled, a little sheepish. You stroked your thumb across his chin.

“I can sense when a man is lying to me, remember?” you said pointedly. “I clocked you a long time ago, pal. Mostly any time you told some fake war story... You didn't fight in the war, did you?”

He frowned in offence, even though you both knew he couldn’t deny it.

"I was there," he said.

You gave him a knowing look. "Ben."

"I fucking would've, all right, but by the time I got there it was pretty much..." He waved a dismissive hand. His brows were crunched along with his worsening frown. You felt his embarrassment, and as a result, his agitation. You were glad to finally get the truth in his own words, but you didn't want to work him up in that way either.

You tried softening him with a kiss to his cheek. You rubbed a soothing hand over his arm.

“So what do you want to do when we get our lives back?” you asked, purposefully changing the subject. “After the whole payback thing.”

Ben sat up with you against the headboard. His upset slowly faded away with your ministrations, your gentle touch, and his expression fell into contemplation.

“I always thought I had time, but uh…I thought I’d eventually settle down. Have a couple of rugrats of my own. Raise a family,” he said. “Thought I could do it better than my old man.”

You tilted your head at him with a certain measure of surprise. Out of everything he might’ve said, that one didn’t occur to you. Although, with his upbringing, you supposed it made sense. You smiled.

“You might have a few of those out there somewhere,” you said.

He chuckled. “I've always thought so.”

He looked at you in a way he hadn’t before, a bit gentler, with something else you couldn’t name. Your face warmed as something fluttered in your lower belly.

“So tell me then. What do you want?” he asked.

Once you worked through that bit of nerves, you thought about his question. It took you longer than you thought it would to come up with an answer, but when you did, it was the most honest thing you could think of.

“I want to be happy.”

He paused, not expecting that answer. Then he nodded, with a short hum.

You sighed. “Okay, if you really want to go after Vought, I think I have an idea of where we should start.”

I can’t believe it. This thing still fits me pretty well, you thought. You twisted in the mirror to examine yourself in your old black and violet supe suit, though you didn't bother with the mask.

Meanwhile, Ben was already with your generous host, sat with widespread legs on the couch while he smoked a large blunt. His smoke coiled out lazily.

“You gotta believe me, I didn’t know what they were planning,” said Arthur Cohen. AKA: The Legend. He had been forced into a chair, though Ben hadn’t bothered tying him up. The man knew better than to make a false move. He was a decade older, and lucky for him, even wiser.

His penthouse apartment in New York looked more or less the same. Hit records and old successful movie posters adorned the walls, like a true has-been.

“Yeah, you said that fifty fucking times already,” Ben snarked. “What you haven’t said, is why.”

“To be honest, I never asked,” Arthur said. His expression soured. “Stillwell and Stan Edgar shivved me out of that decision, those uppity fucks. Then they got me fired on some technicality.”

“Allegations of embezzlement, or so I heard,” you said, reentering the room.

Arthur raised a finger. “Not true. That money was well earned backpay.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You know I know you’re lying, right?” You approached the men and crossed your arms. “What’s the lay of the land now?”

“Well, Stillwell’s the new me. Stan’s the new CEO. They disbanded Payback after you disappeared. The others are either working new gigs or are in early retirement. But I heard Vought’s working up to creating a new team.”

You nodded and shared a glance with Ben. He looked a little too chilled out right now. Apparently, Arthur had the good stuff.

“Before we jump into the frying pan with this, I want to go see my family,” you said. “Would you…want to go with me?”

Ben blew out more smoke, gesturing at Arthur. “I’ll keep this one company until he finds our old team. Make sure he doesn’t fuck off to Rio.”

You felt the sting of disappointment, but you sighed and agreed.

“Just…wait for me to get back before you go anywhere,” you said. You saw Ben prickle a little at being “told” what to do. You lowered down to his lips.

“Please?” you said, plying him with a kiss, and a gentle squeeze of his hand. “I’ll be back soon.”

He tightened his hand on yours. His gaze drew over you, briefly with more clarity through his high.

“Fine,” he said. “Be careful.”

You nodded with a smile, giving him one more kiss goodbye.

Your father was the longer drive north than your brother’s house in Queens, so you headed up to find the former first after borrowing a car from Arthur. According to him, your father had moved upstate to Albany after your “death.” 

Now, you understood why.

He lived in a two-story house on a whole acre of land, complete with three cars, a pool, and oh yeah, his new girlfriend. She looked good hanging off his arm in Atlantic City, as you saw from a picture on the wall—after you broke into the house, that is. To be fair, they’d left the sliding glass door open in the backyard.

Your dad was dressed like he just got home from the golf course, walking over from the kitchen to the living room. He dropped his glass of wine in shock when he saw you standing there, admiring the only framed picture of you, your mother, and Chris on one of the display shelves. Glass shattered across the hardwood floor.

“Hey, Dad,” you said. You turned to him, not bothering to hide your disdain.

He gaped for a few seconds as he tried and failed to make his mouth work. He pointed at you with a shaking hand, your name finally falling from his lips.

“It’s a beautiful place,” you said. You gestured widely at your surroundings. “It’s nice to see that you finally got what you wanted.”

He tried to go to you, to embrace you, but you held out a hand. Your lips trembled as you fought the onslaught of your emotions. If he touched you, you might not have been able to control your actions.

“Did you give any of the settlement money to Chris and his family? Or did my death just make you rich,” you asked.

Your father’s eyes closed. He released a heavy sigh before he was able to meet your gaze again.

“He wouldn’t take any of it,” he admitted.

Your tears stung in your eyes as you smiled a little. “Sounds like him.”

“Where have you been?” he asked. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Again, he tried to get closer to you, and again, you held him off.

“The only thing I need from you is to keep doing what you’re doing,” you said. “Keep living your life like you no longer have a daughter.”

With that, you stalked out of the house and shot out the door, back to your car, no matter how much he called out after you. You got into the driver’s seat and beat the wheel once, twice, venting your frustrations. But you forced yourself to take in deep breaths to calm yourself. You wiped the tears from your eyes.

He wasn’t worth it.

You wondered if you should go see Chris though. Would it be safe for him and his family? Was Vought watching them as a contingency, if you ever escaped?

You weren’t sure. You rucked through your purse lying in the passenger seat for the weird “cell” phone Arthur had lent you. You wanted to check in with Ben first, before you went anywhere else.

You started to dial, but a gloved hand shot out and injected a needle into your neck. You startled at the sharpness and the feeling of a chemicals rushing through your body. Your eyes darted to the rearview mirror.

All you saw was a blurry, black mask.

Meanwhile, Ben was fucking plastered.

He had been ever since you left yesterday morning. In his unrest, he’d moved on to a handful of whatever opiates Arthur kept in his medicine cabinet.

Christ I’m fucking bored.

He glanced down at the phone in his lap. The one Arthur gave him, along with a list of numbers that had been taped to the fridge. The first number on the list was the cell phone you were carrying. Ben read the rest of them.

Pizza place. Chinese. Swedish massage—hmm, there’s an idea. Handy man. BEST escort service…

Ben rose a brow. An inebriated smile curved his lips.

“What makes it the best escort service?” he asked, and loudly. Enough that Arthur came over from where he’d been making calls in his office, trying to find the rest of his former teammates’ whereabouts.

Arthur raised a brow at him. “You sure that’s a good idea right now?”

Ben shot him a terse warning look. The other man raised his hands.

“Eh, I’m three times divorced. What do I know?” he said, but he sighed and gave Ben a long look. “It just seems to me that you and Sirena got a good thing goin’, that’s all.”

The thought of you managed to cut through the haze of drugs clouding Ben’s mind. He frowned.

“That’s how Missus #1 caught me, with one of my ex-assistants in the jacuzzi,” Arthur said, with a mild grimace on his face. “She got that house in the divorce. Well, that and the kids.”

Ben looked over at him blankly.

Heaving a sigh, Arthur went back to his office.

Ben glanced down at the list of numbers in his hand, and the cell phone in the other. What the fuck was taking you so long then?

He dialed the first number on the list—your number. It rang several times, but you never answered. He called you again, waited a few minutes, then called you a third time. You weren’t answering.

His frown worsened, along with a suspicious prickling up his spine. Fuck...

He'd felt it the moment he let go of your hand, but he'd been too out of his mind to actually listen to his instincts; the same ones that warned him not to let you out of his sight. And more importantly, not to let you go.

He got up from the couch and stormed into Arthur’s office, shoving the door open. Arthur jumped in his seat. 

“What? What’s the matter?”

“She’s not picking up the fucking phone,” Ben said. He paused. “Something’s wrong.”

Arthur didn’t ask him the predictable question: how do you know? He just took in the look on the supe’s face and knew it wouldn’t be wise arguing. He tried calling your father's home, but all the man would say was, "She left. She's gone."

Arthur hung up with the man, and for a long moment, he sat pensively while Ben angrily paced the small office, like a tiger confined in its enclosure.

“It’s possible that Vought knows you guys made it back,” Arthur said. At the dark look on Ben’s face, the other man rubbed his chin with a sigh. “Okay. I’ll try to track her down for ya. In the meantime, I’ve got Countess’s address. Maybe she'll even have an idea of where to look for Sirena.”

He slid a piece of paper toward Ben across his desk. He grabbed it, pointing a threatening finger at Arthur.

“Find her.”

You woke with a groan. You knew a drugging when you felt one, and this was it. Someone had given you a powerful sedative.

You were alone in a white padded cell, lying on a cot. It was all too familiar.

Except for the tall figure in black standing in the middle of the room, watching you. You gasped with a jolt, pressing your back against the wall after you sat up. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Irving?”

Black Noir stepped closer until he was sitting beside you on the cot. Tentatively, he raised a hand up to touch your cheek with gentle, gloved fingers.

Your shock gave way to anger. You slapped his hand away.

“What are you doing?!” you said sharply.

Noir backed off at once, as if you’d struck him a real blow. He got up, went over and grabbed a dry erase board that had been lying against the far wall, along with a marker off the floor. He wrote something down on it, then he showed you.

You shouldn’t have come back to NY.

You frowned, both at what he “said,” and in confusion. Why wouldn’t he just talk to you?

“What did you expect?” you asked incredulously. “For me and Ben just to disappear forever? To let you keep ruining our lives?”

Noir paused at that. He tilted his head with a long look at you. With your abilities, you were able to sense that he was disheartened, and even angry. He erased the board with his arm and wrote something else.

Do you love him?

You blinked at the question.

“Who?” you asked, even though you knew.

Soldier Boy

Emotion rose high in your throat, but you worked past it with a swallow, and a deep breath.

“That’s none of your business,” you said.

Noir just stared at you, his head tilting forward. The longer he stood there, watching you, waiting for an answer, the longer you prickled with unease.

He erased the board and wrote the same question again. He held it out for you to see, shaking it once in emphasis.

Do you love him?

You hesitated, but you didn’t want to lie anymore, even to yourself.

“Yes, I do,” you said. “I know what he’s done, believe me, but he isn’t a monster.”

Noir’s head twitched. You felt his anger intensify. He dropped the board onto the floor, startling you, but all he did next was slowly raise his hands to take off his helmet. He showed you what was left of his mottled, disfigured face—the burnt skin and the divot in his skull that had never fully healed.

Your mouth parted in shock as tears sprung in your eyes. You tried to avert them, but Noir stepped forward and grabbed your jaw, turning your face up to his and forcing you to look. Your lips trembled, but you met his gaze unflinchingly.

When he seemed to be satisfied, he released you and stepped back. He placed his helmet back on.

“I understand why you hate him,” you said at last. “But you made your choice when you let them take me too. You…you changed everything for me.”

You were satisfied to feel a lance of Noir’s guilt. You had scars too, and most of them weren’t physical.

“I’m not going to apologize for my choices now,” you said, with a firm glare. “So unless you’re going to kill me, you can fuck off, before I scramble what’s left of your head.”

Your eyes glowed with your power. You opened your mouth to begin your siren’s song, but Noir turned on his heel and exited the door, leaving you alone in the cell.

A fucking chimp sanctuary. Really? Ben thought as he broke into the boundary of the reserve. About a quarter mile into the tall grass, he found a large, if rundown country style house in the middle of the woods.

“Yes, Big Daddy. I’m almost ready for you. Just let me heat these up…”

Ben raised a brow, but he gritted his teeth and kicked through the front door. There she was, Crimson Countess in all her glory, holding a set of anal beads.

She gasped at the sight of him, but she ignored the “client” on speaker on her landline phone, and dropped the beads so she could aim a fiery blast at the intruder.

Ben jumped out of the way and tossed his shield. It hit her square in the chest and sent her flying back into the wall, destroying a bookshelf and the dining table. He walked over to it with slow, heavy steps.

She raised her head with a groan, but then, her eyes watered with disbelief…and fear, when she looked up at him.

“Ben?” she said. “My God…it’s really you, isn’t it? You... you look the same.”

“You don't,” he remarked. He lowered down to grab her by the collar of her suit and raise her out of the rubble.

“How much did the Russians pay you, Donna?” he asked calmly.

She struggled to escape, her nails scraping at his gloved hand. He tightened his hold.

“They didn’t,” she admitted. Tears leaked from her eyes under her mask.

“They didn’t pay you anything?” he said through clenched teeth. “Then why?”

You know why, came sneaking voice in his mind. He tried to pay it no heed, but Donna sneered at him.

“Because,” she spat. “I fucking hated you. We all did.”

Ben’s lips pulled at a humorless smirk. His chest prickled with heat. “I should’ve known you were a bunch of sniveling, backstabbing, fucking cowards.”

“Kill me then,” she taunted. “Is that gonna make you feel better? Going to make you feel less empty inside?”

Ben’s chest began to get that nuclear glow, but he managed to fight it down, back into embers.

“Not yet,” he said. He drew her in closer. She held onto his wrist, her feet scrambling over the debris on the floor.

“I need to find someone,” he said. “And you’re going to help me.”

Ben and Donna sat across from each other on her living room couch, with the landline sat between them. The phone was on speaker as it rang. The longer it took, the more annoyed he became.

“This better work,” he said. She gave him a flat look.

Finally, a woman answered the phone.

“Good afternoon. Stan Edgar’s office. How may I assist you?”

“Hi Gloria, it’s me, Donna,” she said. “I need to speak with Stan as soon as possible, please.”

“Ooh, I’m afraid he’s in a meeting.”

“Trust me, he’s going to want to take this call.”

“Hmm, I’m afraid his next availability isn’t until next week. And next month if you want an in-person meeting.”

“Just tell him to call me back asap!” She said, hanging up the phone in a huff. Ben gave her an unimpressed look.

“That was your big fucking plan?” he said.

She huffed. “You think breaking into Vought is going to be easy? Let alone finding that weasel. He’s got the best security money can buy, and by the way, finding where they’re keeping your little girlfriend isn’t going to be any easier. They could’ve stashed her literally anywhere by now.”

You think I don’t fucking know that? Ben got up from the couch with an angry breath. He turned away from her and rubbed at his beard in contemplation. He shouldn’t have let you go anywhere alone.

I should’ve been there. The thought gripped him, deep in his gut. Guilt was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling.

“We’re going to need help,” Donna said.

His bad mood took a turn for the worst. He glanced back at her.  

“What, the rest of the fucking Scooby gang?” he snarked.

“Or you can try going in alone, guns blazing,” she shrugged. Her sharpened gaze met his. “How fast do you think they’ll kill her, just to spite you?”

Ben’s jaw clenched. Donna leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms.

“Or worse. They’ll put you back in a box and ship you back to the Russians,” she said. Her snide smile had him clenching his teeth. “Either way, you’ll never see her again.”

With everything in his being, Ben wanted to fry this bitch to Kingdom Come.

“Get up,” he ordered. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving.”

Donna’s expression fell. “What?"

"You heard me!" he barked, grabbing her arm to pull Donna to her feet. "Get the fuck up."

She struggled against his grip. "Where’re we going?”

“To find those fucking Twins.”

They took her car, a tiny sedan. Evidently, the end of Payback hadn’t been good for Donna’s career. Arthur had told him that, irony of ironies, she now sang at a Soldier Boy tribute act at Voughtland to pay her bills. And as he’d seen earlier, she needed to pad her income in other ways.

She was driving them up to Vermont. It was going to take days, and Ben was already sick of her.

It was a small blessing when they stopped at a gas station in the nighttime. She gave him her credit card to buy some snacks for the road while she filled up the tank. (He took the keys with him as insurance that she wouldn't bolt with the car.)

He returned with a far bigger bag than she expected. She forgot what a human garbage disposal he could be. He tossed the card back at her.

“Your card’s maxed out, by the way,” he said.

She glared at him, but she endeavored to let it go with a sigh, raising a hand to her temple. How the fuck had this become her life?

To minimize being overheard, she stepped closer to him while the gas pump kept going on her car.

“Gunpowder is the easiest one to find next. Mindstorm’s probably hiding in a hole in the middle of the woods some-goddamn-where,” she said, keeping her voice down. She gave her unwanted companion a sly look. “Though I’m thinking you want Mindstorm to stay wherever he retired.”

It brought up an unsavory memory.

After the team turned on him, Mindstorm had been the one to lock his gaze on Ben. For a moment, his feet had been rooted to the ground while Mindstorm tried to shove him deep into his mind. It had given someone the opening to slip a mask of Novichok over his face. He suspected it had been Countess.

Now, Ben turned to her with a glare at her audacity.

“You know, for a massive cunt, you’ve got some brass balls,” he said dangerously. “How the fuck didn’t I see what a vindictive little snake you were from the beginning?”

Donna scoffed in derision.

“I’m vindictive? Says the cheating, lying, bastard,” she snapped.

“Oh, shut your hole. You knew what I was doing, and you didn’t give a shit,” he said with a glare. He leveled a finger at her. “You used me to get exactly what you fucking wanted. Fame, money, and all the perks that come with it.”

Her lips pursed, like she didn’t want to admit it. But if they were airing out dirty laundry, then she wasn’t pulling any more punches.

“Well, I wasn’t the only one. Was I?” she said. “Anyone who ever smiled at you, fawned over you, or sucked your dick was trying to get something from you. Or, they were scared of you. Because you’re a bully. A fucking monster. And sooner or later, Sirena won’t be able to stomach you anymore.”

The thin leash on his temper finally snapped. He reacted, reaching out to grab her by the throat. He was truly thinking about breaking her neck.

Donna choked for air and gripped his wrist. “Without me, you’ll have no one. Good…fucking…luck finding her.”

Ben was furious, but he battled it down, expelling a breath of frustration.

He released her. She coughed and gasped and stumbled a few feet away from him, glaring at him all the while through her fear.

When she was eventually able to stand again, she and Ben shared a look of mutual loathing, but also, of understanding.

It was an uneasy truce. For now.

You were quickly unraveling alone in the dark.

You felt the phantom cold of your old cell. No matter how you rubbed your arms through the leather of your supe suit, you couldn’t get warm. You released a shaky breath and swiped at your tears.

You missed Ben. He had to know by now that you were in trouble, but you didn’t know if he’d know how to find you. Or worse, if they found him first.

You steeled yourself and tried to calm your panic. You counted to thirty. Your eyes flit to every small detail of your cell that you could name: the small crack in the gray linoleum tile, the line of ants slowly creeping along the corner, the brittle wool blanket you were sitting on, laid over your cot.

When your breathing was steady, you tried to think. You didn’t know where you were, of course, but you could try to sense how big the building was.

You did something you rarely did. You cast your awareness outward as far as you could reach.

There were very few male energies, and you only picked up on a few scattered thoughts.

Until you found one. It felt…strong, but young. A kid?

Jesus Christ, what’re they doing in this place? you thought.

What…who’s there?

You heard the voice in your mind, small and afraid and lonely. Before you could answer him, the door of your cell opened to a few familiar faces.

There was an older man in a lab coat that you recognized, but you couldn’t place his name until you read his monogram. Vogelbaum. Followed by Stan Edgar and Black Noir, who came to stand behind you. You knew that if you made any wrong moves, Noir would kill you this time.

Quickly you read their energies as you observed them.

Vogelbaum gave off mild interest in you, but it felt clinical. Stan felt resigned and calculating as he took you in.

“For what it’s worth, I do wish it hadn’t come to this, Sirena,” Stan said. “We didn’t intend for you to get caught up our deal with Russia.”

He may have been telling the truth, but that didn’t mean you cared.

“You’re in the most secure lab we have,” he said, gesturing to your wall-to-wall cell without windows. “No one knows you’re here, and no one will find you.”

You smiled dryly. “So what do you want from me?”

“I want to know how you and Soldier Boy escaped the facility in Russia,” he said, gathering his hands behind his back.

What he really meant was, How did you escape? So we can make the next cell even more effective.

You leaned forward and spat at his shoes.

Black Noir grabbed you by the back of your neck and yanked you back. Your jaw clenched in anger, but you didn’t struggle. Even if you opened your mouth to sing, Noir would snap your neck before your powers had time to affect him.

Stan remained unaffected by your outburst, though he glanced down at his shoes.

“These are handmade Italian leather,” he remarked.

“Even if you find Ben, you’ll never be able to kill him,” you said tersely.

“We don’t need to kill him. Nor will we need to find him,” Stan said. “He’s already looking for you.”

Your eyes widened. Your heart swelled with both hope and dread, though you tried to hide it.

“We have a plan to neutralize him. Several, in fact,” he added, and spread his hands wide. “Until then…welcome home.”

Smug bastard. You glared back at him.

He left, along with Vogelbaum. Black Noir glanced back at you once, then he was gone.

The lights in your cell turned off, leaving you in darkness. You heaved a breath and couldn’t help the tears that found hot paths down your cheeks. You curled your knees up on the cot and held them to your chest.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could pretend the room wasn’t pitch black. You focused your breathing, in and out, until your heartbeat began to slow down from its panic.

The kid, you remembered.

You licked your dry lips and tried casting your awareness out again. When you found the familiar energy from before, you reached out to him.

Hey, are you there? you prodded.

Who the hell are you?

It’s okay. Don’t be scared, you said, and you gave him your name. Are you locked up here?

Y-Yeah.

I’m sorry to hear that. I am too.

How can you be talking to me…in my head?

Well, it’s complicated, you admitted. It’s a new power I’m trying out, thanks to my time as a human test subject.

Something told you this kid knew the feeling.

What’s your name? you asked.

Um…John. I’m John.

  AN: 🤭 Oh, yeah, we're going there.

How did you like getting Ben's perspective on things? And his "forced" team up with Countess to find the rest of the cast of Payback. 😬 What could possibly go wrong?

Next Time: 

Ben hated to admit it (so he wouldn’t), but she had a point. It took him a minute to wrangle in his ire, taking deep breaths to try and calm the power inside him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

This time, it actually did.

His hand fell back to his side, letting the younger man breathe freely.

“Let’s go.” Ben turned on his heel and headed out.

“Where, uh…where’re we going?” Charlie asked, rubbing his sore neck.

“Looks like we’re getting the team back together,” Ben said grimly.

He tilted his head.

“Well. What’s left of it.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 11

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[vivalarevolution]

𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻

Dark-Obsessive Neteyam x Reader

Request: „I love your works, and I am wondering if you could write dark-angst fic abt neteyam (aged-up obv). Maybe in a scenario where the reader does not like neteyam/sees him as a friend and likes someone else, which makes him jealous. It doesn't have to be nsfw, but I think it will be very fitting considering the theme of the story.‟

A/N: I have a weakness for dark characters. That's why when I was writing this request I couldn't resist and added a few things along with little changes, going beyond the content I was given from anon.

Not my best work but still I hope you will enjoy reading it and that you will like it. Remember, english is not my native language, grammatical errors will or may occur. Works also contains smut , and that's why please minors do not interact with it.

*Some characters have been aged up

She felt it, felt his burning gaze on every inch of her body. No matter where she moved, no matter how she bent, his eyes followed her ,devouring her. This sent a wave of shivers down her spine which spread all the way to her toes.

And when a pair of hands slid subtly over her ribs, the gaze on her body was no longer devouring, but burning, causing her a pain she couldn't forget.

-Your body is right here , with me. But where is your mind tìyawn? - a man asked her, tickling her earlobe with the air that escaped from his mouth.

-My mind is here as well , do not doubt it - she replied, placing her hand on his chest, when her eyes wander over his blue skin and the black tattoos that decorated it.

-Are you lying to your future Olo'eyktan? - he asked, cupping her chin in three large fingers, stroking the soft skin of her cheeks, his thumb tracing her full, kissable lips.

-I would never lie to you, Aonung - she stated quietly, grabbing his wrist, squeezing it gently.

-Yet you're avoiding telling me the truth - metkayina man said, trying to find the answer in her onyx pupils, which had dilated, now resembling a dark night sky that decorated her irises.

Suddenly, the eyes that had been staring at her disappeared, causing her skin to be covered with a long-forgotten coldness.

-There is nothing I am hiding from you - said the woman, involuntarily looking away towards the place where the one who had been watching her every move had recently stood.

But after her words, the person she was looking for so desperately was suddenly behind her, as if summoned. Hiding her silhouette with his massive body ,placing a large, rough hand on her hip, giving her the impression of a silent and sick announcement that she belonged to him, that she was his property.

-I hope I didn't interrupt anything important - he said politely, so politely that it almost sounded like a lie that hide his true intentions.

-No ,of course not my Olo'eyktan - the woman replied immediately, avoiding the gaze of both men.

In response, Neteyam placed two fingers under her jaw, forcing her to look into his golden eyes, which screamed one word - liar.

-Good , very good...in that case, I would like to talk to you - he announced, speaking to her as if they were alone, even though they were surrounded by a sea of ​​people -...privately - he added, and his voice became lower, heavier, almost threatening.

She was unable to agree or refuse before the same hand that held her waist pulled her towards its owner, making her surrender and accept that she was trapped in a snare that was impossible to escape.

But even if she tried to escape, she knew she couldn't do it. She was too weak to disobey, too weak to oppose, and she hated how powerless she had become.

-Neteyam... - she whispered and almost immediately his attention focused on her -...you have to stop. I am begging you.

The man approached her, running his nose over the soft skin of her cheeks, inhaling her intoxicating scent that made him just want to be closer to her.

-I don't understand what you're talking about yawntutsyìp - he said, running his fingertips along her ribs and collarbones, stopping at the crook of her neck.

-My heart doesn't belong to you. I am not yours - the young woman said suddenly - I have never been Neteyam... and I never will be. 

Her words made the hand around her neck tighten, not to choke her, but to give her a silent warning.

-Oh, but you are - he growled low in her ear - You are mine, you belong to me Y/n. No one else can have you - his words became more possessive, more dangerous - You said it yourself, I am your Olo'eyktan - he whispered, pressing his body against hers - That makes you my possession.

Y/n let her body go limp.

My possession echoed in her head, and the dark thoughts that had crept into her mind so long ago suddenly became the reality that stood right before her eyes.

-Whatever you feel for me, these emotions. They are dark, poisoned. They are deadly - she noticed, closing her eyes after a moment when in response Neteyam only wrapped his other hand around her figure, pulling her closer to him, so close that the warmth of their skins overlapped - This is not what love should look like.

The man looked straight at her.

-How do you know what love looks like? - he asked, and the hand that was holding her throat found itself on her jaw, holding her head in place - How do you know what my love looks like if you never let me show it to you? You never try to take it, to feel, to truly feel what my love for you feels like.

-If this is what your love is supposed to look like, then I don't want it - the young woman announced, looking directly into his golden eyes, which became shadowy, no longer hiding the darkness that smoldered deep inside men -Your love is like ivy that wraps around me and suffocates me every time I try to move, tightening more and more, so much so that it breaks my bones. This's what your love looks like.

- I'll show you what my love looks like - he growled , suddenly attacking her neck with his fangs , which almost immediately penetrated her skin , creating a bloody mark , that made a silent scream fell out of her mouth , and a shadow of tears appeared in her eyes.

After that Olo'eyktan moved away from her body , watching with a kind of pride what he had done , moments later pushing her against a tree, immediately hovering over her small body ,like a predator who had managed to capture its prey.

His hands touched her with extraordinary precision, giving the impression that he was everywhere, not allowing even one patch of Y/n skin to be untouched. Her shoulders , her hands , her ribs , her breasts , her hips , her thighs. His fingertips left behind a burning sensation that, instead of dying out like a barely smoldering flame, lasted like a wildfire that consumed not only her body but also her mind.

His lips glided over her soft skin , going lower and lower with each kiss , which left a wet trail and chills behind. Neteyam stopped only when he could taste her sweet arousal on his tongue , soaking her inner thighs and loincloth . Her material teased the skin of his face , which found its place on her womanhood. Therefore, his hands , still roaming over her body , found their place on her hips , just above the belt that held her lower garment , after a moment ripping it with great force , tearing it almost to pieces.

-No...no , Neteyam - she whispered, trying to push him away, even though her body trembled with growing excitement that she could not accept.

-Stop fighting oeyä yawne- he muttered, looking at her out of the corner of his eye as his lips brushed her pubic bone, coming dangerously close to her clitoris, which was swollen and wet, begging to be touched - Just give in -he whispered , before his tongue sank between her puffy folds ,tasting her as if she were the sweetest of fruits.

The woman moaned , and her body involuntarily went limp , now being poised by the man in front of her , feasting between her legs , devouring her and making her mind grow emptier and emptier , no matter how much she tried to resist it . Not when his lips roamed over her womanhood , touching her so well, as if he knew her better than she knew herself , which terrified her as much as it thrilled her.

-No...no...oh please stop...I can't - she babbled , as her own body began to refuse to obey her.

But he continued his assault , slurping her juices with great greed , making her orgasm approach uncontrollably fast , too fast . Y/n tried desperately to push Neteyam away from her , but he only clung to her more , lining his tongue deep into her canal , teasing her tight gummy walls , making stars appear before her eyes, while the lower part of the man's face was covered with a transparent liquid.

The young woman let her head drop involuntarily. Her eyes closed again and again , and her mind became completely foggy , unable to think, unable to escape.

-This is what my love for you is , my sweet syulang - he said tenderly , capturing her heated cheek in his large hand - You saw it , you wanted it , you needed it - he announced in a dark tone of voice , kissing the tears that began to run down her face - You truly wanted it , your truly wanted to be mine...forever - he whispered , encircling her tired body with his arms , drawing her toward him , nestling her body into his.

And Y/n allowed him to do so. She allowed him to kiss the crown of her head, she allowed him to bring their kuru together, making them into a unity that even though it wasn't supposed to exist had just been born, finally making her his. Truly his. Forever.