#I don’t know if I need to tag that but I want to be careful!

[softmiso]

self control | aaron hotchner x reader

summary: hotch drives reader home after a case and is unable to exercise self control.

tags: smut (18+/nsfw), boss/employee relationship (dubcon/power imbalance due to this), light angst, bau!reader, cunnilingus, unprotected piv, fingering, blowjob, thumb/finger sucking, cum eating

word count: 1.5k

a/n: regular text size and capitalization under the cut.

cross-posted on ao3

It had been a particularly grueling case. You tried to hide your fatigue, but Hotch caught on quickly. He offered to drive you home and, after a small back and forth, you agreed.

The ride was quiet; you slipped in and out of consciousness along the way. Pulling into your driveway, your superior looked over to your sleeping form, admiring your moonlit features.

Snapping out of his reverie, he cleared his throat, thus waking you from your light slumber. Your eyes blinked open slowly. For a moment, you too, admired the person in front of you.

“Hi,” you spoke softly.

He smiled. “Hi.”

Your eyes flickered down to the console between the two of you to where his hand rested. In your haze, you reached up, resting your own hand on the surface. Before you could think through your actions, you brushed your pinky against his.

You expected him to move, but he remained still. Looking up, you felt his eyes studying your features, trying to get a read on the situation. In another unexpected move, his hand enveloped your own hesitantly. Warmth spread through your skin where his hand made contact with your own.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. If someone had been eavesdropping, they’d think he was just asking about the case. The look in his eyes—expectant, waiting—said otherwise.

“Good,” you whispered.

He leaned in. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

After a beat, his lips connected tenderly with your own. Before you could relax into the feeling, however, he pulled back. Realisation crossed his features. Want crossed your own.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “we—I shouldn’t.” His actions betrayed his words, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he spoke.

You rested your forehead upon his own. “I don’t care.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Somehow, you’d ended up in your house; lips and hands wandering intermittently as you made your way from the entryway to your bedroom.

“Hotch—” you gasped, as he pressed kisses against your neck.

“Aaron,” he mumbled against you.

“Mmm, sorry,” you managed to get out, “Aaron, please, need you.”

He pulled back, both hands cradling your face, thumbs stroking at your skin. His eyes, alight with a newfound wonder, flitted across your face. He didn’t know where to keep his gaze, wanting to remember every inch of your features.

He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, one hand moving to the nape of your neck and the other to your waist. As your lips moved together, he spun you around, walking you over to the edge of your bed.

The hand on your neck migrated to your face as he pulled back from the kiss, thumb dancing around your lips. As if on instinct, you opened your mouth, enveloping it with your warmth. You hummed as you sucked on his thumb, savouring the gentle weight of it on your tongue.

Aaron groaned at the feeling, and the way you looked at him made his cock stir in his slacks. He couldn’t help but to imagine it in place of his thumb in your mouth.

Reluctantly, he removed the digit from your mouth. “Kneel.”

You complied.

“Look at you sitting pretty for me,” he said as he began to unbuckle his belt.

You kept your eyes on his as he undressed. That is, until his cock sprung free from its confines. Your mouth watered at the sight of it.

“Can I?” you asked, biting your lip.

When he nodded, you took him into your hand. You pumped at his length a few times before kitten licking the precum at his tip. His hands flew to your head at the feeling, though he didn’t apply too much pressure, letting you set your own pace.

You suckled at the tip for a moment, before taking him into your mouth. Eyes still on his own, you hollowed out your cheeks as you moved up and down his cock. Your hand remained at the base, covering the area you couldn’t reach with your mouth. Spit dribbled from the corners of your mouth, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

You continued on, when you felt Aaron’s hands tighten their grip on your head. You could tell he was getting lost in the feeling, all glassy eyes and parted lips.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, voice raspy, “feel so good around me.”

You hummed around him, the vibrations of which nearly sending him into a frenzy.

With that, he pulled you off him. “Can’t cum yet.”

He helped you up, pushing you onto the bed. The second your back hit the mattress, he began to unbutton your shirt, wanting you to match his own state of undress. He took an excruciatingly long time to undress you, pausing at every chance he got to kiss and suck at your skin.

Finally, he’d made his way down to where you needed him most, carefully removing your underwear. He kissed along your upper thighs, not missing the way your arousal glistened where it painted your centre.

He spread your folds with his thumbs and, finally, his mouth was on you. He didn’t waste time in wrapping his lips around your clit, alternating between sucking and licking it. Your hips twitched at the intensity of the feeling. You’d never felt such electricity surge through you.

When he added a finger to the mix, you felt your pleasure rise and rise, until it finally reached a crescendo. Before you had the chance to recover, he made his way back up your body, kissing you with fervour.

As your tongues danced together, you felt him line up with your entrance before pushing in. You whined at the feeling of the welcome stretch, breath hitching once he bottomed out. His hands had migrated to your hips, thumb rubbing gentle circles into the skin.

He gave you a moment to adjust to him. In fact, he himself needed a moment to regain composure; the feeling of your silky walls was overwhelming to say the least.

Soon enough, you moved your hips upwards, urging him to move. After a few experimental thrusts, he found the perfect pace. He moved just slow enough to let you enjoy the feeling of his cock dragging within you, but fast enough for your pleasure to start building again.

“Fuck,” you gasped, “n-need you deeper.”

He swiftly took hold of your leg, placing it over his shoulder. He kissed your ankle from where it rested upon him before doing the same with your other leg. Quickly, he resumed his ministrations, this time hitting that oh so sweet spot inside of you.

He placed a hand over your tummy, pressing lightly. “Needed me right here, huh?”

You whined in response, words too difficult with the way he was pounded into you. Promptly, stars began to cloud your vision, the white-hot pleasure becoming overwhelming.

“Can feel you clenching around me, baby,” he groaned, “you gonna cum on my cock?”

You threw your head back. “Y-yes!”

As your climax approached once again, Aaron cradled your face, urging you to look at him. His movements started to become sloppy, and you could see composure start to dwindle.

“Where do you want me?”

“Inside.”

At that, his lips met yours in a kiss all too gentle for the intensity of the moment. But it was that contrast that sent you over the edge, Aaron quickly following suit. The moans and whines escaping the both of you, combined with the slick sounds of your bodies connecting, created an orchestra of sound.

A stillness followed as you both came down from your highs. Aaron slowly put your legs back down, and you knew they would ache in the morning. You drew in a sharp breath when he pulled out, only for it to catch in your throat as he replaced his cock with a finger.

Gathering his release on the digit, he brought it up to your mouth. You delighted in the taste of him, swirling your tongue around his finger to swallow every last drop.

He laid down beside you, enveloping you in his arms. “Did so well for me.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You must have fallen asleep soon after, waking to the sun streaming into your room. You looked over at Aaron’s sleeping form, now your turn to quietly admire.

You ran a hand through his hair, waking him in the process. As his eyes blinked open, a lazy smile tugged at his lips.

“Morning,” he said, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Morning.”

You lay there for a few moments, just taking each other in. The moment was short-lived, however, when his smile faltered. He said your name gingerly, making you worry slightly.

“You understand we can’t tell anyone about this, right?”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“And,” he sighed, “we probably shouldn’t do this again.”

You couldn’t say you were surprised; he was your boss, after all. But it didn’t hurt any less.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

[waynes-multiverse]

Hi, I first wanted to say that I’m a big fan of your work, I’m constantly rereading your fics and they have really helped me escape from my busy Uni schedule. I was hoping you could write some smutty head canons about dean, no pressure ofc. I hope you enjoy your day and thank you for taking the time to create and post fics for people like me who need a way to escape their hectic lives.💕

Aww, thank you so much, lovely! I gladly support the escapism 🥰

Sorry this took me so long! I was on a bit of a break there, but I was so excited to get into this. God knows I have so many headcanons 😆

Hope you’re doing well and hope you enjoy this 🤍

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18 for some smutty content (duh)

Main Masterlist || Tag List

Headcanon: Gettin’ Down and Dirty with Dean

Dean is very hands-on, which means he’ll touch you whenever he can, even if it’s just a hand on the small of your back while you’re pumping gas or walking into a bar.

This also means he takes PDA to a whole new level. He teases you under the table when you’re doing research in the library or eating in the kitchen. He weaves his arms around you when you’re doing dishes. He trails kisses down your neck while you’re cooking.

Especially while you’re cooking. Something about food just turns him on. So much so that every once in a while he stands in front of your door with some whipped cream, chocolate sauce, a cute wiggle of his eyebrows, and a giant grin, begging you to be his dessert.

Sam is mostly annoyed by his brother’s indiscretions, though. Too many times (almost every damn day) Dean has walked into the kitchen in nothing but his gray robe and announced his morning wood to you, not seeing Sam sitting in the corner. That’s when Sam usually folds his paper, takes his coffee, and hurries to the library before Dean’s hands find their way to your body once more.

Sam suffers the most, however, if there’s only one motel room available and the three of you have to share. Dean has zero self-control (and also doesn’t care what Sam sees or doesn’t see). While he cuddles you, he holds you so close to his body that it’s hard to breathe. And again, hands and lips – they wander. Constantly. The man doesn’t possess an off-switch.

It got so bad that Sam has established a rule that the two of you are not allowed to share a bed anymore and Dean has to take the couch for the night. But as soon as his little brother has dozed off, he crawls right back into the warm comfort of your bed.

Speaking of rules, Dean loves breaking them. If there’s a sign that says “Do not enter,” you can be sure as hell he’ll shove you in there and will enter you. For Dean, there’s no such thing as bad timing or an inappropriate place. He even breaks rules that don’t exist and are just common sense like, “Do not have sex in a museum while you’re breaking into said museum.”

And while he loves breaking rules, he also loves following them. Especially when it’s “sexy rules.” He loves when you playfully push him around, when you shove him backwards onto the mattress and tell him what to do. He will smirk at you giddily all the way through and be the best damn boy you’ve ever seen.

Overall, he’s curious about your fantasies and constantly asks you want you want to do. He enjoys it when you take the lead in the bedroom and loves to see what you come up with. He loves being underneath you and watch you ride him with his bottom lip tugged behind his teeth. It barely hides his huge grin. He loves to see your tits bounce from this angle. According to him, it’s the best goddamn view in the world – forget the Grand Canyon.

However, when he’s had a bad day or a rough hunt, he actually likes to be in charge. It all depends on his mood. But taking control of you helps him cope with the things he can’t control in this world. So whenever he comes home with tense shoulders and a tightly creased brow, you know you’re in for a treat.

When he orders you around with his deep voice and sharp tone, you melt into a puddle and only all too happily oblige to his every command. Your legs grow weak when he dominates you with just a look. God, he loves the way you whimper and squirm underneath him, loves how you moan his name when you’re on all fours in front of him, and loves how your lips feel around his cock when you suck him off.

You love to give him comfort in whatever form he pleases. And Dean loves that you trust him with all your heart – and he knows to never betray it. He will always respect your limits, even though he gently pokes them sometimes, testing how far he actually can go.

Sometimes he bends rules like he bends you.

And truth is, he can go pretty fucking far. There’s not much you won’t let this man do. His dirty mouth can convince you to do all kinds of things – things you would for sure refuse if anyone else was asking. But it’s Dean, and one look of his sparkling green eyes will have you on your knees for him.

But honestly, Dean is the same kind of whipped for you, too. He will do anything for you, short of moving actual mountains. Massages, hot baths, ice cream at midnight? He’s got you covered and doesn’t expect anything in return, except for your unconditional love. He’s got it either way, but you do have to reassure him sometimes.

Dean’s a giver, not a taker, so you do have to force him sometimes to ask for the things he wants. But boy, when he gives, he goddamn gives with both of his massive hands. After he’s done with you, there’s not a single inch of skin left on your body that hasn’t been worshipped. You always come first – literally.

Dean takes pride in making you cum, and it doesn’t matter with which body part of his he does it. They are all equally skilled – his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and his dick. He eats you out and fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, because you both know in a life full of monsters, there actually might not be one. He makes every night and every day count.

Then, there’s his mouth. It should be no surprise, but it’s goddamn filthy. He could make you come with words alone, and not rarely, he sure likes to try. A lot of times it’s stuff you haven’t even heard, dreamed, or thought about until Dean’s said it and put it in your goddamn head.

And yes, Dean’s very sexual and a great lover through and through. He enjoys sex, but most of all, he enjoys going to sleep and waking up next to you. He loves cuddling with you on the couch during a movie, he loves holding you close at night, and he loves that special moment when you’re both coming down from your highs and are still connected, bathing in the afterglow.

Dean has been so touch-starved all his life that he enjoys the little things. He loves when your fingernails caress his back and massage his scalp. He loves using you as his freaking pillow. At this point, you’ve learned not to drink too much water before bed, because you know you won’t be able to escape his prison of strong arms – not that you’d ever want to (unless you really do have to pee).

I honestly could've went on and on and on with this one... 😂

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[nickfowlerrr]

crystal clear and smudgy

pairing: personal trainer!lance tucker x curvy!reader / just a little tiny hint of bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. kinda established undefined relationship. no explicit smut but sexual content. talks of working out. just a little tiny hint of bucky x reader. steve rogers has a blink and you’ll miss it appearance. mentions of oral. some shades of degradation at the beginning. cursing. bits of fluff. mention of reader having a degradation and a praise kink. little ooc lance bc he’s way sweeter and a lot more bearable here than he is in the bronze 💀 not edited simply bc i didn’t want to edit it - apologies for any mistakes. if something needs to be tagged pls lmk!

words: 4k

notes: not expecting much interaction for this one but if you do so happen to give it a read, i’d love to know what you think! personally - i really loved writing this one ☺️ as always, reblogs and comments are more than welcome and so appreciated. thank you for reading! 🩵

“Let’s go, princess, one more set,” he orders, standing over you as you lay on the ground, collapsed and completely warn out by the last twelve reps. At this angle you could just lift your leg and hit him right where it hurts.

And he’d deserve it, too.

You’re distracted from the thoughts of kicking your own personal menace by the feeling of him kicking you. Right in your side. Not anywhere near close enough to hurt, but just enough to piss you off.

“Don’t fucking kick me,” you swat at him, “jackass.”

“You just gonna lay there and take it?” he challenges, walking further up your body so he’s standing over your chest now.

By the smirk that curves his lips, you can tell he’s about to say something else as your already hot body heats further under his burning gaze. He knows what he’s doing and you want to hate him for it.

He lifts a foot, holding eye contact with you as he brings it to your chest, pressing down with just enough of his weight to ensure that you can feel it as your mouth goes dry and your head goes empty.

“We both know how well you can take it,” he taunts, stepping just a little harder as your hands fly up to his shoe and push on his foot a bit as a stilted gasp - a gasp and not a moan - leaves you.

A moment later the chime sounds at the entrance of the gym, signaling the arrival of another. Lance’s smirk taunts you a second longer, that glimmer of mischief still twinkling in his eye before he steps over you.

Your eyes follow him as he leaves the weight room to greet whoever it is at the front desk. It’s a Wednesday so you know he isn’t coaching any gymnastic classes, and he stopped taking other clients on Wednesdays after the second time you found yourselves being…interrupted by an early arrival.

Wednesdays were now exclusively reserved for you.

You know how it sounds in your head, but you also know it’s really for no other reason than him wanting to get his dick wet without interruption.

At least that’s how it started, anyway.

After the second time you were almost caught, you refused his advances at the next session. You weren’t risking it. Lance, however, couldn’t have cared less if someone had walked in on you on your knees in front of him, his dick down your throat while you sucked him off. In fact, you’re almost certain he probably would’ve liked it. When he realized you were serious, he rolled his eyes and went to the front entrance, making a show of locking the door as you watched on. He got out his phone and texted his next client that he had to cancel before he came back over to you and shoved his phone in your face.

“There, happy now?” He asked before he tossed it next to you on the bench you were sitting on.

You just looked up at him and couldn’t get a word out before he was dragging you to the locker rooms. Happy maybe wasn’t the word you would have used, but surely satisfied. Especially after the way he fucked you in front of the big mirror across the room. Forcing you to look at yourself, to watch the way he used you, how he made you feel so good and so full of him, his lips pressed against your ear as he spoke the filthiest degradations, with sprinkles of praises when you squeezed his cock just right or made a certain sound that had him groaning deeply and squeezing your soft hips even tighter. And definitely after he fucked you again in the showers. It was slower that time; steamy and yet still rough, and god, just as fucking hot.

You went home with him that night.

And begrudgingly, every other Wednesday night since.

It’s become routine. You meet here, have your training session, and after that forty-five minute mark, it inevitably devolves into you two fucking around before Lance reminds you how much more comfortable his bed is compared to whichever surface you’ve found yourself being pressed against that night.

You assumed tonight would be like any other but as you hear Lance talking, and what sounds like two other men speaking in return, you get the feeling you’re wrong.

You briefly contemplate getting that one last set in before you shoot up, eyes wide at the realization of whose voice it is you’re hearing out there. No way, you think. Shouldn’t he have his own private gym at Stark Towers?

You get to your knees and crawl over to the window of the weight room, peaking your head just up enough to be able to see who it is out there.

You fucking knew it!

Of all the gyms in this city, he had to find his way to this one.

You can’t see his face, but you’d recognize that arm and that voice anywhere. Steve Rogers stands by him, gym duffle hooked over his shoulder as Lance says something you can’t quite hear about punching bags. You sink back down to the floor before any of the three men can spot you.

You don’t know why you feel so embarrassed but there’s a very strong urge threatening to take over you and see you bolting out the back door before anyone can say a word.

…That’s a lie, actually.

You do know why you’re so embarrassed. It’s not only the decision you made but the very real implications of what that decision means…

Because really, who in their right fucking mind would ever turn down a date with the Bucky Barnes?

No one! Never you.

And yet…you did.

You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about what feelings prompted your almost immediate no from the second the rebuff left your lips.

You’re single. You have every right to go out with anyone you so please. And yet, night after night, there’s only one man who runs through your every thought.

The same man who so shamelessly flirts back with any woman in his vicinity - and makes sure you see it every damn time. You always wonder if he can see the ire you try to hide burning in your gaze. If that’s what causes his smug smirk to spread when he spots you. That glimmer of mirth in his bright blue eyes. Ughhh.

The same man who sends you completely unsolicited selfies, thirst traps, and nudes nearly every damn day. If his texts weren’t so damn incessant, personalized, detailed and pointed, you’d almost wonder who else he sends those pictures to.

The same man who calls you whenever he’s bored. At first you thought he just wanted to hear the sound of his own voice, but lately you’ve been wondering if he just wants to hear yours.

The same man whose bed you’ve found yourself sleeping in nearly every damn night the past two weeks. The nights that have put to rest your wonder of who else he gets in his bed beside you.

The same man who -

Is standing right in front of you.

Your wide eyes blink up as you feel eyes on you. Three pairs.

You clear your throat and push yourself up to stand. Lance looks like he’s about to say something but Bucky’s voice cuts his off before he can get a word out. He says your name as a question and has not only yours, but Lance and Steve’s attention as well.

One of their brows furrowed a bit more significantly than the other.

You smile at him and titter nervously, “Hey, Bucky.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. “Steve, this is,” he gestures, providing him your name in introduction. “PR…Relations?” He says, trying to remember your job title again.

“Something like that, yeah,” you laugh.

“So I’ve heard. Nice to finally meet you,” Steve extends his hand to yours in a polite shake, a friendly smile of his own on his face.

“You too,” you say as you shake hands.

Lance says nothing as he crosses his arms over his chest, and you can feel his gaze heavy on you.

“So,” Bucky says as he takes a step closer to you while Steve turns to Lance expectantly. With a bit of what you might be reading into as reluctance, Lance finally peels his eyes off you and Bucky and starts toward the boxing area near the back of the large weight room. “It’s over here,” he leads him.

You’re now standing alone with Bucky, and yet you can feel Lance’s eyes on you still. You think you like it…

Maybe he’s getting a taste of his own medicine. Unlike him, though, you don’t plan on leading anyone on just to see if he’ll care. If that is, in fact, what he has been doing to see if he can get a response from you.

“You workout here often?” Bucky asks.

“Uhm, not really, no,” you laugh lightly. “I prefer home to here but Lance is my trainer,” you nod in his direction, “we have a weekly session.”

“Oh, nice. We’ve heard good things about this place, wanted to come check it out. It usually closes early on Wednesdays, right? We had to call and set this up.”

“Yeah, it’s normally closed around six,” you say, “lucky you guys’ll have a private session.”

“You do private sessions?”

“Hm?”

“Is that why you’re here, I mean? Private session?”

“Oh,” you can feel your skin burning, “uh, yeah. Mhm,” you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

His lips tilt up at you and you can’t not return the smile as a little silence grows between you.

“Look, before I ask again, I want you to know that I can take no for an answer, I swear,” he says sincerely, looking into your eyes, “but uh, have you given any more thought to getting dinner?”

You take a stilted breath, your brows raising the slightest bit before you blink. You wet your lips before you force yourself to speak.

“I uhm,” you turn for half a second to glance back at Lance, finding his eyes still set on you before you return Bucky’s gaze once more, “I’m seeing somebody, actually. I kinda have been…I’m sorry, I should’ve told you that the first time. I just, uh, I. I wasn’t sure what we were- are,” you shake your head, feeling a bit flustered, “it’s a little complicated, uhm,” you let out a breathy laugh.

“No, please,” he shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. I get it. Complicated.” He rubs the back of his neck, his bicep bulging with the movement of his raised arm and the hem of his shirt lifting just a bit. Gooooooood.

You’ve said no to this god of a man twice now. Hell. You must really be in deep.

“Well, if complicated ever changes, you know how to reach me,” he offers with a light smile. You nod and give a soft one of your own.

Before Bucky has the chance to walk away, Lance is at your side, startling you a bit as you look over to him.

“You finished your last set?” He asks as Bucky looks between the two of you.

“Uh huh,” you nod. He knows you’re lying as he narrows his eyes at you but doesn’t call you out on it- for now at least.

“I gotta stay a little later tonight,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys. You watch as he takes his house key off the ring before he holds it out to you. “I’ll be home in an hour or two,” he says nonchalantly as you stare at the key dumbly for a long second before you finally reach to take it.

“Okay,” you murmur almost so quietly you barely hear yourself.

Bucky huffs a smirk to himself in realization before he speaks, “Well, it was good running into you. Have a good night. ‘M sure I’ll see you around again.”

“Yeah, you, too,” you breathe another smile of your own as Bucky passes, touching your arm briefly before making his way over to his friend.

You force yourself to then turn and face Lance completely, your wonder evident in your eyes at his actions. “You want me to-“

“Yeah,” he cuts you off. “You’re gonna end up there anyway, thought I’d save you the back and forth from your place to mine.”

Your eyes narrow at his attitude. You’re used to his cocky self assurance and the way every word seems to be laced with a taunt, but this isn’t that. He seems…you aren’t sure. But definitely off.

“I’m gonna end up there anyway?” You question, defiance and annoyance both nipping at you at once.

“Yes.” He readily supplies, taking a step closer to you, invading your space in a way you don’t normally mind when you’re alone.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because that’s what this is.”

Oh god, you think. Maybe he heard you say you were seeing someone. Maybe he knew you were referring to him and maybe he doesn’t want you thinking this is anything more than sex. You’re not seeing someone. It’s not complicated. If you ignore the calls and texts and mid day and late night and early morning rendezvous and the cuddles and showers and pet names without malice or sarcasm reserved for only you, then yeah.

Yeah.

It’s just sex.

It’s not like either of you have ever said it’s anything else, you remind yourself.

You swallow down your embarrassment as your eyes flick toward your shoes. You spot your water and think to grab it and go. You don’t really have anything else to say. Just a lot to think about.

You don’t have time to do anything, though, before Lance’s hands come to hold your jaw, tilting your face up and forcing you to meet his eyes. They’re dark, his usual glint of taunting playfulness now gone. In its place is something much more heated, more serious. If you didn’t know better you might even say possessive…

“Because you’re mine,” he adds, voice deeper and lower as he takes another step to you. His eyes flash from your own to your lips and it’s not another second before he crashes his into yours, kissing you hard. His hands hold your head as he keeps you near him while you can do nothing but kiss him back. It’s not too long but still borderline desperate. You two don’t really kiss all too often and never this intently unless he has you stuffed full of him - and never have you kissed at all in front of anyone before.

Part of you knows he’s probably just putting on a show, wanting to prove something to who he perceives to be competition, and part of you doesn’t care. But a smaller part of you thinks maybe, just maybe, it’s not so much to prove something to Bucky - but to prove something to you.

You pull away after a second, but staying close enough to still breathe him in. You’re dazed and he knows it as that cocksure smirk spreads across his lips again after he looks into your shining eyes.

“Hydrate,” he tells you, letting you go. “I’ll stretch you out when I get home,” he winks, earning a gawked face from you as he starts to walk backwards over to the boxing side of the room. God, you pray they didn’t hear him say that. You chance a glance their way and see them already caught up in a sparring match, paying you and Lance no mind.

You see his slight annoyance at your preoccupation with what they might have heard and it makes you realize that this very random run in with Bucky might have changed the course of…whatever it is this situation has been. Is?

You have certainly never seen this side of Lance before. You again wonder what it means for him because you know well how he is.

This isn’t the time or place to figure it out, though. You give him another look and nod. “I’ll see you…then, then.”

You grab your water and go for your bag on the bench beside you, tossing the key he gave you in there and grabbing your own set to hold. You give him one more fleeting look before heading for the door, it’s like you’re trying to read his mind with every glance and you are getting absolutely nothing.

-

It’s not far from the gym to his place and you’re there within fifteen minutes. It’s a little weird unlocking his door and walking into the empty home, but you’ve been here frequently enough to not feel entirely out of place.

You refill your now empty bottle with the water from his water cooler and drink some more as you set your bag down on the couch.

You don’t know how you should wait for him, or what he’s expecting, but you’re sweaty and he’s not currently here on top of you distracting you from that fact, so you decide on a shower.

You head to his bathroom and strip down before grabbing your towel - wait no, not your towel. It’s just the towel you tend to use when you shower here. You grab it from the shelf with the other folded towels and drape it over the towel bar near the shower. You start the water and let it run for a bit while it warms before you step in.

You grab your loofah - that you only keep there for emergencies - and wash with your body wash. Again, emergencies. Once you’re clean and refreshed, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of the water gently beating down on you. And you let your mind wander.

‘Because you’re mine.’

Lance’s voice runs through your mind and sends a feeling through your body like no other. He’s never said that before. So definitely. So serious. And that kiss…

You take a deep breath and try to relax some more.

The more you think, the harder it is to deny.

God, you really are here all the damn time. And going over your daily routine you realize just how much Lance fits into it. You don’t know how you didn’t see it sooner, maybe you didn’t want to, but the truth is starting to creep up on you. This isn’t just sex.

But ah, can you really say that? All you two do when you’re around each other is fuck. You don’t think there’s been a single day you’ve spent with him that you didn’t do something sexual. So maybe…maybe you’re wrong.

Maybe it’s more of a friends with benefits type thing? You’re certainly past the point of just being fuck buddies.

But friends doesn’t feel entirely right either.

You know now, and truthfully you probably knew after getting asked out by Bucky the first time, that this is more than any of that.

You feel things for him. Things that aren’t just sexual attraction or kinship.

You don’t find yourself wondering what your friends are doing at random times of the day, smiling to yourself at the prospect of seeing them soon, no… Only with him.

You don’t find yourself craving the warmth or hold of your friends when you crawl into bed at night… Just him.

You don’t get butterflies when your friend’s contacts show up on your phone with a new message or a call… Only with him.

You don’t feel the way about your friends that you do about him.

You love your friends, yeah. But it’s not the way you-

You stop yourself before you can finish the thought.

You turn off the water and grab the towel off the bar outside the shower door.

You wrap yourself up and dry off best you can before walking out to his bedroom.

Realizing you might want to commit to a real relationship with someone and declaring that you might possibly be in love with them are two very different things. And you’re still not sure you’re ready to do the former, let alone the latter.

Do you really need to do this? To address it at all? You don’t think so. No. You don’t think you will.

So what if it is just sex? It’s been working for you both so far. You can’t deny you have feelings deeper than that for him, but you really don’t want to talk about it tonight. Maybe ever, you think petulantly.

Here’s the facts:

One, you think you really like Lance. Like, like like.

Two, you know you don’t want to get involved with anyone else - including, just as a reminder, Bucky fucking Barnes. Which again, is insane to admit.

And three, label or not, you can’t argue with him. He was right.

You’re his.

You sigh and resign yourself to the bubble of discontent sitting deep in your stomach. You’re so over it.

You think about grabbing something from his kitchen to eat but decide you really don’t have an appetite for anything. You forgo clothes, sure you’ll be rid of anything you put on when Lance gets home anyway, and get into his bed.

The second your head hits the pillow, exhaustion hits you full force. You’re beat. You try to fight it for a few minutes but eventually lose out and fall asleep in the blink of an eye. Lance’ll wake you up when he gets home.

-

It’s a tickle along your side that rouses you lightly. Your eyes open so slightly, still thick with sleep as you notice the darkenedness of the room. You’re groggy but you feel his featherlight touch again, ghosting from around your bottom, over your bare hip, and trailing up your side. You know it’s him. You’ll work through your sleep in a second, you tell yourself.

You wonder if he knows you woke up; he’s being so quiet. And he’s keeping his touch so soft. He’s laying beside you as you’re turned into him, laying on your side. You still don’t have the energy to move, still half asleep.

You make a little noise as his touch tickles up your side again and you shift into him further. You’re surprised as he shushes you and pulls you in closer. You can feel him looking down at you in the near blackened room as your face is now in his chest.

You let out a soft, sleepy moan as he gently fondles your tit in his hand, squeezing lightly, just feeling you as his thumb brushes over your peaking nipple. Your brows furrow as you turn into him to be closer and another delicate sound slips past your lips. You’re hushed again as he rescinds his touch, dragging his hand back down your body once more.

You rest a hand on his chest as you relax further into him. His hand finds its place on your thick thigh, moving your leg to rest across him.

He’s bare under the sheets, you feel him. He’s half hard and you’re expecting him to slip inside you any moment.

“Been thinking about you all damn day. Driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he seems to grouse to himself as he whispers aloud, pulling you closer yet. His skin seems a little damp and you can smell his soap. He must’ve showered.

You almost force yourself to open your eyes but you’re stopped by the feeling of Lance’s lips pressing softly against your temple as he hugs you into him. He always claims it’s you who searches him out in the middle of the night to cuddle into him, but clearly he plays a part in the way you always seem to wake up tangled in one another, too.

“Lance,” you murmur sleepily, unable to open your eyes if you’d wanted to.

“Shhh,” he hushes. “Don’t talk, just sleep.”

You don’t argue, you just turn more into him; content to do just that.

But you’re even more surprised when not very long after you both settle, you feel his breathing even out as he falls completely asleep with you in his arms.

No sex.

Hmm.

This, whatever it is…

It’s complicated.

Clearly.

But clearly, it’s not that complicated.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: my gut said go full self-indulgent so I did.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Your phone lights up again. You’ve already waited too long. You can’t avoid this any longer and in that moment, avoiding Lloyd’s family is a bigger priority. You get up, thankful to be away from Lloyd’s wandering touches, and excuse yourself to take the call. You don’t miss the scathing judgment from Gwenyth, but you don’t care either. 

You go out into the hallway and try to keep your voice down. There’s enough chatter that you’re not entirely concerned. You answer and close your eyes. 

“Hi, mom--” 

“Where are you?” She demands. “You said you would be here. I’ve been waiting. Calling. Your sister too. We’re all worried--” 

“Mom, I’m sorry. I missed my flight--” 

“Oh, yes, I couldn’t put that together,” she snaps. 

“I’m sorry, mom. Really. I know—I messed up again. I really wanted to come but that was the only flight--” 

“It’s not that you couldn’t make it, it’s that you couldn’t even let me know! I’ve been in shambles, thinking the worst. I check the flights to make sure there were no crashes, I’ve been looking through news reports.” 

She starts to devolve into breathy sobs. You feel horrible. Your guilt overwhelms your self-pity. Suddenly being stuck with these rich snobs isn’t so bad. Your mother has spent half her Christmas worrying over you, and know her, you wouldn’t be surprised if she actually tore some hair out. 

“I know I should have called. I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to figure something out,” you lie, poorly since the defeat is in your voice.  

Your mother has always been your kryptonite. She’s not cruel like Gwenyth, but her disappointment is devastating and all too easy to earn. She just wants the best for you but you’ve never managed the best. 

“So you can come?” She sniffles. 

“Um, not today, but I’m looking at tomorrow.” Another frail falsehood. “I promise, I’ll let you know--” 

“Sweet pea,” Lloyd’s voice undercuts yours and you cringe. You put your finger up and turn to signal him to hush. 

“Yeah, mom, I’ll try for tomorrow and if I can’t get there--” 

“Mom?” Lloyd echoes with a smirk. 

You shake your head. 

“Who’s that?” Your mom asks. 

You grimace and glare daggers at Lloyd as he comes closer. You outstretch your arm and put your hand just below his chest.  

“Mom, it’s just--” 

Lloyd easily reaches past your resistance and swipes the phone. He puts it on speaker with a tap of his thumb as you lunge at him. He grabs your arm and forces it up. Nearly dangly you from it as you lash with the other. 

“Is this mom?” Lloyd asks brightly. 

“Um, hello? Who is this? Where’s my daughter?” 

“Mom, I’m here. Lloyd, give me the phone back--” 

“Boo, what’s going on?” She asks. 

Lloyd looks at you with a mischievous grin and mouths ‘boo?’ with a tweaked brow. You shake your head again and plead. 

“Mom, it’s nothing--” 

“I think I spoiled the surprise,” he speaks over you. “We’re going to be coming tomorrow.” 

“We?” She ekes out, you hear the worry mounting in her voice. 

“Please don’t be mad at Pixie, she was just being a good girlfriend. We stopped by my family’s house and oh boy, the snow we got up this way,” he tuts in a very convincing monologue. You’re stunned into silence at his act. He sounds like a decent person but you know better. “And you know, everything was so hectic as we tried to dig out that it just got all ahead of us.” 

“I’m sorry, who are you? Boo?” She asks desperately. 

“Mom--” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should’ve started with that. I’m Lloyd. Her boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” You mother breathes, “boo?” 

“Yeah, mom, er,” you wrench your hand free and smack Lloyd’s arm. “He’s um, going to come with me, so uh--” 

“I’ll be there, both of us, with bows on,” he promises. “Please, allow me to apologise from the bottom of my heart for keeping your daughter from you. You can’t blame her. It was entirely me. I am not a morning person and she can only do so much to keep me in line.” 

You grit your teeth as you squint at him. How does he sound like such a dweeb? Well, looking at him with that mustache, he kinda is one. 

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, very nice,” your mother coos, “I can let everyone else know. Oh, boo, you could’ve told us--” 

“Again, that’s on me,” Lloyd preens, “I thought it would be a nice surprise.” 

“It is, it is,” she assures. “Oh, it will be so nice to meet you. We’ve never met any of Pixie’s men.” 

“Mom,” you groan. 

“We never really thought she had any. She’s always been so focused on work, and before that, it was school--” 

“Mom,” you jab Lloyd’s ribs as he smirks bigger and bigger, then snatch the phone from him. “Promise, we’ll get there but uh... gotta go. Love you.” 

“Love you too, boo. Oh and it was nice meeting you, um--” 

“Lloyd,” he supplies and sticks out his tongue. 

“Bye.” You hit end and put your phone in your pocket.  

Your agitation peaks and you can’t help from shoving Lloyd. It barely affects him which annoys you more. God, he is such a little—big turd. 

“Why would you do that?” 

“What? I just did you a favour.” 

“A favour? You just dragged my family into this bullshit--” 

“Well, hate to break it to you, boo,” he emphasizes the last word as he grabs your hands and pulls them away from his stomach, “but they’re going to have be. We promised mine a white wedding.” 

“You are so--” 

“So...?” He prompts. 

“Urgh.” 

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy. It’s a ticket out of this place. Literally. So you just let me know where I need to book tickets and I’ll pull a few strings--” 

“Strings? You couldn’t pull these earlier?” 

“On Christmas Day? Please, even I can’t do that but the day after Christmas, my guy’s getting into the punch right now, he’ll be just tipsy enough--” 

“You are torturing me,” you accuse. 

“I really can’t deny that,” he snickers as he lets you go. “Now tell me where I’m booking these tickets too and I’ll hop right on that...” he looks you up and down and bites his lip, “as much as I’d like to hop on something else.” 

You huff, “Toronto.” 

He twitches, “Toronto? As in... Canada?” 

You nod and roll your eyes. 

“Wait, Pixie puff, you’re Canadian?” 

You tilt your head and look at him. You shrug, “what does that matter?” 

“Well, I thought you type were supposed to be nice, first of all.” 

“Just make the call,” you sneer and cross your arms. “You’ve already mangled this Christmas, may as well put it out of its misery.” 

“Why don’t you do the same for me, huh? I’m suffering, Pix. Just give it a squeeze” he gets closer. You flutter your lashes then he wiggles his hips. “These pants are killing my circulation. I told you, I don’t wear underroos.” 

“Back up before I lose it,” you warn. 

“I’m close to losing it too, baby face,” he groans. 

“Make. The. Call.” You demand. “And I’ll happily break the news to your dear sweet mother that we need to go get ready to fly out.” 

His expression sobers and he exhales heavily, “Pix,” he utters quietly, “sometimes, you’re scary. Don’t... don’t piss off mom too much. Please.” 

“Book the tickets, honey poo,” you chime in an acidic tone, “and I’ll make sure mommy’s not crying into her champagne.”  

You poke centre of his chest and bounce on your heels before you spin away. Your mother’s disappointment might be like arsenic but Gwenyth’s is the exact antidote you need. 

❄️

“I know a girl in Toronto. A few actually,” Lloyd says over the steering wheel. He’s tasked with driving back to the hotel since you imposed sobriety on him as punishment for the day. “Strange, you’re nothing like them.” 

“I don’t care,” you grumble. 

“Ugh, your wheel is too low,” he mutters as he stops at a red and tries to adjust it. You don’t respond.  

You just want to lay down. Your head is pounding from the lack of sleep and Lloyd managed to book you an early morning flight which will curtail any meaningful sleep. You close your eyes and ignore his fussing. 

Finally, he steps on the gas. “So, Canada, you grew up with those geese, huh? Explains the bite--” 

“What?” 

“I read somewhere they have teeth--” 

“Why the heck are you moaning about geese for?” 

“I hear it now. Couldn’t place it before. I thought Minnesota or somewhere but when you’re angry, you get this twang--” 

“Be quiet,” you let your head drop back again. “I’m getting a migraine.” 

“Aw, baby,” he coos. 

“Lloyd,” you growl. 

“I can make it better. I read somewhere that you can massage it better. Oh, and you know, orgasms--” 

“You read a lot of nonsense for someone who I never see reading,” you drone and prop your elbow against the door to cradle your head. 

“There’s a wealth of information on the internet when you’re not scrolling porn,” he chuckles. You let out a disgusted noise. “Don’t worry, pixie. I’m committed to this. Me and you, we’re going to get our piece of the pie and make off like bandits.

"So you let me play the loyal husband. I’ll get you all spread out and loose, I’ll rub your head and your shoulders, then my hands might wander a little bit more...” he hums. “I’ll touch the peach a bit, I just can’t help myself, but I think you’ll be ready by then.” 

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you snarl. 

“Ah, come on, flying is so stressful and after the day we had, we both need that release--” 

“How many more times do I need to tell you to stop?” 

“And how many times do I need to tell you I won’t? It’s fate now, Pixie.” He clucks and slowly turns. You lift your head and look up at the hotel sign. “Hey, if you like the long game, I can go along with it. Make it hurt so good.” 

“Do you ever think of anything else?” 

“There’s a constant undercurrent that never really leaves my mind,” he shrugs as he parks. “But I’m great at multitasking.” 

You grumble and shake your head. It sends a throbbing pulse through your skull. You undo your seatbelt and drag yourself out of the car. As the door shuts, you wince. Then Lloyd’s and you feel the nausea start to crawl through your guts. The lack of sleep, the stress, the alcohol, it’s a perfect recipe for a deadly migraine. 

You do your best to push through as you make your way up to the room silently. Lloyd is not so quiet. He’s rambling about something; a shirt? You don’t know and you don’t care.  

You take out the room and enter the hotel suite. You drop the key and your purse and shed your coat. You hang it on the hook on the back of the door and tread further in. You don’t stop until you get to the bed. You ease yourself down and bury your face in the pillow. 

“Pixie,” Lloyd’s worry puts you on edge. You raise your hand and wave him off without lifting your head. “You need some Advil?” 

You shoo him again with your fingers. You popped some with your last glass of wine. You probably should’ve opted for water. 

Your alarm is set. You will have to awake before the sky shifts that slightly lighter shade of grey and try again. You know better than to trust Lloyd, but you’re putting some faith in him to get you home. 

You feel the bed dip behind you and Lloyd’s mutters and grumbles creep into your ears. You move the pillow over your head and hug it against your ear. You tune him out as you urge your mind down to the depths. In your bouts, there is no relief, but sleep can at least dull the agony. 

Your brain turns to sludge as the steady pounding evens out to a tempo. You drift into the muddy no man’s land between waking and otherwise. You’re conscious enough to feel the pain, but you're detached enough to bear it. 

Time crumbles around like sand in a glass. Your mind swirls with churning recreations of the day behind you. Most of them fractured and nonsensical. Voices without words, faces without names. 

A shiver washes through you as a tickle flutters down the back of your thighs. The cool sensation flows over your skin. You shudder and cling to that tenuous state of dissociation. A jolt forces you out of the void. 

You roll over and throw your arm out. It bounces off of Lloyd’s shoulder as your eyes slit. You yipe as you find him tugging at your pants. You kick and amplify the siren whining in your head. 

“What are you doing?” You rasp as you flail at him. 

“Relax, pixie stick, I’m just trying to help you relax. You can’t sleep in this,” he peels your pants down your legs and you swat at him again. 

You look down and find your sweater gone, only your bra to conceal your chest. You quickly hide behind folded arms. “What the hell?” 

“Damn, Pix, you never said you had a dump truck he untangles the fabric from your ankles. 

You whimper and push yourself up on your elbows, you bareness secondary to your irritation. “Get way from me.” 

“Just let me rub you down,” he begs as he runs his hands up your calves. “Promise, I’ll be a good boy. I kept my dick strapped down, baby.” 

Your eyes flit down unthinkingly. He’s in only his briefs. The rest of him is exposed; his fur-trimmed chest, his thick but firm stomach, and his muscled legs. You look him in the face and he winks. “Made you look.” 

“Stop, please,” you flick your fingers at him. 

“You got me struggling,” he begs as his hands trail further up and he kneads your thighs. “I’m hurting like prom night and you been grinding on me in a tack ballgown all night--” 

“Ew--” 

“It’ll make you feel better--” 

You catch his fingers as he traces the edges of your underwear. As you curl up, the weight of your head thunks own at the base. Urgh. 

“No--” 

“I’m just going to rub you down like a good boy. That’s it,” pushes against your hands. “You can even keep these on.” He runs his thumbs along the front of your panties. “They look fucking delicious anyway.” 

“Lloyd.” 

“Shhh,” he hushes you and shoves your hands off of his. 

Before you can stop him, he straddles you. He puts his large hands around your skull and you whine. H works his fingers into your scalp as he continues to shush you and presses his thumbs to your temples. The warmth of his tough makes you sigh. You hate that it feels good. 

“Just like this, baby,” he purrs as he keeps you pinned under him. “Just relax.” 

Your eyes roll back as you shatter to pieces. In this state, you have no strength to fight him. Besides, why should you stop him when it feels so amazing? 

[pascalispretty]

mirage on sand

Joel Miller x F! Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: age gap like woah, 1970s AU, Rockstar Joel, drinking while driving (it's the 70s, standards are different), fingering, oral sex, car sex, daddy kink

Summary: You and Joel entertain yourselves as you drive through the desert to his next concert.

A/N: written for @iamasaddie's 24 hour writing challenge! This was such a good idea and desperately needed to help me get over my writer's block. I was listening to the Daisy Jones and the Six soundtrack, so I blame that for what happened here. Title from Let Me Down Easy by Daisy Jones and the Six. (ao3).

The gas station attendant watches you unabashedly as you lean down to scoop up a copy of Texas Tattle. He’s been staring at you since you came in really, his eyes roaming freely over your bare legs as you wandered down the aisles of the little gas station store. You don’t mind the looking. Men look at you all the time; they have done for years.

You drop the magazine onto the counter, along with a six pack of Coors and two packs of cigarettes. No menthols, you note with irritation, though you shouldn’t have expected much choice in such a tiny store. The cashier smirks at you as he rings you up. His eyes dip down to where your breasts press against the fabric of your dress, the bodice just slightly too small for you.

“You find everything you needed, ma’am?” He asks, packing your purchases with exaggerated care into a paper bag.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You’re not from around here are you? Reckon I’d remember seein’ a girl as pretty as you around,” he says with a wink. “You here on a trip with your dad?” The poor attempt at flirting makes you wince. You’re even a little annoyed on Joel’s behalf that the attendant hasn’t recognised him, though you suppose he’d have to take his eyes off your tits for more than a second to realise he has a rockstar roaming his forecourt.

“Something like that,” you say noncommittally. You hand him the bills Joel had given you before you came inside. “That should cover the gas too. Keep the change.” You grab the paper bag, eager to leave, to set off with Joel again.

Joel’s already back in the car when you step outside. The heels of your boots click on the asphalt as you cross to the car and open the passenger door.

“You get everything you wanted?” Joel asks, looking at you over the top of his sunglasses. He looks so handsome, the teal of his shirt a gorgeous contrast to the golden tan he’s sporting after weeks of Texas summer.

“And more,” you tell him, shoving the paper bag into the footwell. Before you get into the car, you bring one leg up to take off your boots. Joel had insisted that you should get a pair of real cowboy boots if you were gonna stay in Texas with him. That had been fine in Austin, but once you’d hit desert your feet had gotten way too hot.

With everything stowed in the footwell, there’s just you left to get back in the car. Rather than sitting down in the passenger seat, you crawl over it and straight into Joel’s lap.

“The cashier asked me if I was on a trip with my daddy,” you giggle as you straddle Joel’s hips. Your pretty white sundress rucks up at the top of your thighs and Joel’s hands push the hem higher as his hands slide up to cup your ass over the fabric. The passenger door is still hanging open; you know perfectly well the cashier has a perfect view into the car right now.

“I hope you told him yes.” Joel kisses you then, his stubble scraping your skin as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. It’s messy and desperate and entirely deliberate in showing the cashier exactly who you belong to. He doesn’t let you linger long on his lap; he has a concert tomorrow, and he’s supposed to be in El Paso by tonight.

You’re settled back in your own seat when the car pulls away, the desert opening back up before you like a vast orange ocean, only bisected by the ribbon of asphalt. You try bickering with Joel over control of the radio, but you’re fighting a losing battle. You content yourself with the way his hand feels resting on your thigh, his large palm warm against your skin.

Instead, you amuse yourself by pulling the magazine out of the bag by your feet.

“Whatcha got there?” Joel asks, his thumb tracing idle circles on your thigh.  

“Saw you were mentioned on the cover and got curious.” You start flipping through pages to find whatever they’ve said about him, pausing on some salacious story about the Governor’s wife and a bodyguard.

“If you’re gonna read that trash, you can make yourself useful and open a beer up for me.” You’re reluctant to lose his hand on your leg, but reluctantly you do as you’re told. You hand him a beer, admiring the flex of his forearm as he brings it up to take a sip.

The two of you drive in companionable silence for a while, the desert flying by in a faded golden blur and Fleetwood Mac playing on the radio. You find the article about Joel in the magazine and read him the highlights.

“Apparently half the country is brokenhearted you’ve taken up with some young hussy,” you tease. He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“That so?” He puts the now-empty can back in the paper bag and, blessedly, puts his hand back on your thigh. “I don’t think they’re allowed to use words like that, baby.”

“It’s heavily implied. This gossip columnist says it’s like watching a Triple Crown Winner try and enter the Derby with a filly.”

“I got no complaints about the ride.” Joel’s hand slides a little higher up your leg, just beneath the hem of your dress. You let your legs fall open a little. It’s pathetic, really, how easily you respond to Joel. Sometimes he’ll just look at you right and set you to squirming.

“And I’m much more fun to whip.” That gets another chuckle out of Joel, another slide of his hand up your thigh. He’s so close to where you want him that you want to whine, or to beg, or to shimmy your hips down to meet his fingers.

“That you are, baby,” he says fondly, squeezing your thigh. “You gonna tell me what the whole thing said? Apart from callin’ you my pretty little filly.”

“Oh, they started with talking about the new album. How well it’s doing, the guitar auction, who you wrote ‘Please Hold to My Hand’ abou-” You cut yourself off abruptly as Joel’s pinkie finger finally brushes against your cunt.

“Are you not wearin’ panties?” He asks. You turn to look at him with a contrite look on your face.

“Oops. Must’ve forgot,” you say, faux-innocence seeping into your words like syrup. Joel rotates his hand and grunts when he feels just how wet you are.

“Bad girl. When you were crawling around on the seats before, do you think you flashed that teenager a glimpse of this pretty little pussy? Really give him something to think about?” He slides two fingers into you in one smooth motion. The swiftness of it makes you gasp, his thick digits a stretch even though you’d literally woken up to him pressing his cock inside you this morning.

You don’t ever want to get used to Joel. You like that it feels like a challenge every time, Joel pushing against your limits because he knows them better than you know them yourself. Your walls flutter around the intrusion of his fingers, the ache quickly outweighed by pleasure.

“You happy now, baby? Did I ride my pretty filly too hard this morning and put her away wet?” His tone is condescending, but somehow that only makes you wetter.  

Your hands clutch at the gauzy white fabric of your dress as he slowly fucks you with his fingers.

Joel steals glances at you when he can; the road is empty, but he mustn’t want to risk taking his eyes off it completely in case he drives you into a ditch.

It’s hard to sit still, your back arching away from the leather seat as his fingertips bump up against that spot inside you, that secret hidden place he’d found. Your own fingers were too small to reach it; it had been further proof of how Joel just knew you, on the inside as much as the outside.

“Oh daddy,” you moan, clutching your dress so tightly you’re worried it might tear. “Feels so fucking good.”

“I know, baby. You know I only work you hard because you need it, don’t you? Little fillies like you need a firm hand.”

Your hips arch up in presentation, sweat beading on your skin in the too-hot car. It’s the middle of a heatwave and you’re in the desert, you didn’t think it was possible to feel any hotter. And yet Joel does, sending so much heat pouring through your veins you think you might combust.

“Joel,” you pant in between moans. “Daddy, am I allowed to come?”

“You’re allowed to come, baby,” he says magnanimously. “As long as you show me how grateful you are by puttin’ that pretty mouth of yours to work. Been too long since I fucked your throat.”

“Blew you last night,” you remind him, with a flash of indignation. You’d both been drunk, but surely you hadn’t been so forgettable as that.

“Exactly, baby, it’s been hours. I nearly put you on your knees back at the gas station,” he tells you, as nonchalantly as if he’s talking about the weather. You nearly choke on your own tongue at the mental image, and Joel takes that as his cue to work his fingers faster.

“Oh Joel, please,” you whine. Between the tension building in your body and the oppressive heat, you feel like you can barely even breathe anymore. You throw your head back against the headrest, mouth opening in a silent scream.

Your orgasm crashes over you abruptly, all that tension letting to at once until the pleasure of release reaches all the way down to your toes.

A sharp sound of dismay wrenches its way from your throat when Joel removes his fingers from your cunt. Without turning to look at you, he absently wipes his hand on his jeans.

“Good girl. You gonna keep being good for me?” He’s already hard, his cock straining against his tight jeans. You watch, a little mesmerised, as he undoes his belt one-handed.

“I’m always a good girl,” you protest, leaning over to unfasten his jeans. He’s not wearing underwear either, making it easy work to get his cock out. You wrap your fingers around the base, enjoying the weight of it against your palm.

“Careful now, baby. Lie to me and I’ll tan your hide.” Joel says, voice low. You shift in your seat, finding the least uncomfortable way to lean down into Joel’s lap. “Were you bein’ a good girl when you flashed your pussy at that boy?”

“….no,” you admit reluctantly. “Sorry.” Joel’s free hand finds a fistful of your hair.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be sorry, baby. Next time I catch you misbehavin’ like that, it’ll take more than a blowjob to make it up to me.” He says it fondly, even as he pushes your head down. It’s all you can do to open your mouth, the first few inches of him heavy against your tongue.

“I want it messy. Be a good girl an’ get to it.”

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse @totallynotastanacc

[zigrethsnotebook]

[NECK KISS]

Ford x Reader

words: 358

tags: sfw, fluff, suggestive

You were in the kitchen, chopping some vegetables for dinner, when you heard footsteps enter the room. Soon after, you felt strong hands around your waist, hugging you from behind. You hummed in amusement before you commented on it.

“Ford, be careful - this knife is very sharp.” The man in question just nuzzled his face into your shoulder. You chuckled lightly, but continued with your task. After you had collected all the chopped vegetables in a bowl and put the knife away, you needed to move away from the counter. Ford’s arms held you in place though.

“Love, I’m gonna need to ask you to let go of me. Otherwise I’ll never get this food done.” Ford just turned you around in his arms and raised one hand to your chin, making you look at him. “Leave it.” He purred and lifted your chin a little higher before leaning in.

You closed your eyes in anticipation. But nothing met your lips. Instead, Ford ducked into your neck, kissing every new spot he could now reach. You gasped in surprise at first, but quickly let your head lean back, giving him full access to your neck.

He placed a soft kiss on every spot that let him feel your heartbeat on his lips. Ford loved the way he could feel it increase in speed when he did that. He worked his way down to your collarbone, his hands now both on your waist.

You placed your hands on his biceps, lightly pushing against him. “Ford. I want to get this done first.” You could feel him sigh against your skin. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Ford slowly removed himself from your neck and looked into your eyes again, pouting. “This better be some amazing food.” You laughed at him but it held no malice, just fondness.

You took his hands and moved them away from your waist, freeing you from his grasp. “I don’t know about that, but if you behave then you’ll get some special dessert.” With a wink from you his mood lifted again.

Quickly, Ford stood beside you, helping you cook. Eager for dessert.

[lottiesboy]

losing track of time!!

pairing: cg!agatha harkness x little!masc!reader

summary: agatha gives you a stern talking to when she finds you up way past your bedtime.

tags: sfw, fluff, age regression, self indulgent, mama!agatha, reader is regressed to 5-7 years old, video games, mama putting on her stern voice!!!

you were in the living room, playing your new video game that agatha bought you today. it was dark out, but you thought it couldn't have been that late. you had one of your favorite shows on your laptop as well, enjoying your alone time.

your mama probably thought you were in bed, so you hoped she wouldn't find you up way past your bedtime. but, agatha must've heard the volume of your laptop from downstairs, making her come see what the problem was.

she came downstairs to see you on the floor and your game on the tv, your laptop clashing with the game. "baby? why aren't you in bed?" you turned around to see agatha in her robe with her hands on her hips. "...hi mama." completely ignoring her question, you turned around, your blankie slipping off your head.

"hi, bunny. do you know what time it is? it's almost two in the morning. you need your sleep. turn your game off, please.” her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was tired, sounding like she wanted to go back to bed. “can i finish this mission, mama?”

“no no, turn it off.”

“but mama-”

agatha walked in front of you and crouched down to your level, taking the controller out of your hands. “look at me. it is too late, and it is way past your bedtime.” her voice was stern, her eyes locked onto yours. “turn everything off and go to bed. don’t make mama say it again.”

agatha hated to be stern with you, but sometimes you push her buttons a little too much. you sighed, getting up and turning your game off and closing your laptop. “good. this is the end of your all-nighters, you hear me?” she grabbed your laptop and put it on the couch. you nodded, going up the stairs with a pout.

agatha followed you, seeing you in the bathroom brushing your teeth. she laid out a pair of pjs for you on your bed, waiting for you in your nursery.

“you need help getting dressed?” you knew your mama loved taking care of you before bed, and even though you were on the bigger side today, you still said yes.

agatha picked out a simple white t shirt and pajama pants, nothing too babyish. “mama’s big boy.” she smiled, slipping on your new clean shirt. “mama didn’t want to be harsh with you, sweetheart. it’s just not good for you to keep staying up at late like this. and i know you’re my big boy, but big boys still need sleep, bunny.” she helped you slip your pants on.

“sorry, mama.”

“i know, baby, it’s alright. you can play your game in the morning, okay? after breakfast.”

you smiled, nodding. “now, c’mon, bedtime.” she patted your butt gently, coaxing you into bed.

[aplaceinme]

For @tommygiving

Tommy parks his truck and turns the engine off. He has been smiling since he woke up this morning, knowing that he is going to spend the entire day with Evan. 

Before getting out of the car, he looks in the rearview mirror and fixes his hair. Evan likes to pull on his curls so Tommy has gotten to wear it a bit longer than he normally would. Once he is satisfied with the way he looks, he turns and just as he is about to open the door, he sees Evan exiting his building and bouncing towards him.

As always, Evan looks amazing, he is wearing a blue sweater that makes his eyes pop, and some black jeans that accentuate his big and strong thighs perfectly. He also seems to be in a hurry, since in no time at all he is opening the passenger side door. 

“Good morning, gorgeous!” Evan greets him, leaning over and giving him a way too short for Tommy’s liking kiss.  

“Good morning, love!” Tommy replies. “I was about to go up… I always go up. Are you that excited to go to the supermarket?” 

“Yeah, I’m really excited! I even have my clipboard, see?” Evan says, waving the clipboard for emphasis. 

Tommy chuckles. “I can see that. Ok then, let’s go!” 

—

“Are you sure you are ok?” Tommy asks for the second time. 

“What? Yes, I’m ok… why? Don’t I look alright?” Evan asks in a slightly hysterical way. “I’m alright!”

Tommy raises one eyebrow in disbelief. “Evan, you have been all fidgety and acting all nervous since… since you got in the truck, actually. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Evan says, not so convincingly. 

“Evan,” Tommy sighs. “Look, you do know that I don’t care about the food or the decorations or anything like that, right? You don’t need to put too much pressure on yourself to try to host the perfect Thanksgiving… it will be perfect no matter what because we are going to be spending it together. And that’s all I want.” 

Evan’s posture relaxes minimally, his eyes go as soft as the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right, it will be perfect because we will be together.” 

They share a sweet but short kiss, both aware that they are in the middle of a supermarket with lots of people desperately buying all kinds of stuff for Thanksgiving. 

“Should we see if we are lucky enough to find a turkey?” Tommy asks as he intertwines their fingers and starts to move across the aisle. 

“Turkey?” Evan yelps. 

Tommy stops walking and turns to look at him in surprise and confusion. “Yes? I mean… Aren’t we having turkey?” 

Evan ducks his head, rubs at the back of his neck, and starts to drag the tip of his shoes along the ground. 

“Evan?” 

“Well… I was thinking that maybe… just maybe! We could go vegan this time?” Evan asks sheepishly.

“Oh! Uhhh, yeah, sure, ok. We can do that if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah? Awesome! Thank you,” Evan says, beaming. 

If Tommy hadn’t been blinded by Evan’s beautiful smile, and by the way it made his eyes sparkle, he would have noticed that in his enthusiasm Evan had started to walk backwards, right into a display of canned cranberry sauce. As it is, Tommy is too late to fully stop him. He grabs him by the arm and tries to pull him away but by then Evan has already lost his balance and he ends up falling over the cans and pulling Tommy along. 

“Oh my god!” Evan mumbles, on the floor and covered in cranberry sauce. “Ouch.”

In the same position as him, Tommy nods, agreeing, “Yeah… ouch.” 

“Are you guys ok?” One of the supermarket workers asks them, looking down at them. 

“Peachy,” Tommy mutters.

“I’m so, so sorry! I can’t believe I did this! It was a mistake… I’m so clumsy sometimes,” Evan says apologetically while sitting down slowly. 

“It’s ok. It happens, not that often, but it happens,” Susan, as her name tag reads, says. “Are any of you hurt?”

“No, just embarrassed,” Evan replies. 

“Tomorrow… that’s when we will be feeling it,” Tommy groans, standing up and giving a hand to Evan. 

“Should we clean it up?” Evan asks hesitantly. 

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Susan reassures him. “The facilities are near the bakery section, by the way.” 

They thank Susan and go to the bathroom to wash a little bit of the sauce. 

“This is not going well,” Evan complains. 

“Don’t worry about it… think about it this way, it will be a funny story to tell everyone,” Tommy says, helping Evan with cleaning his lovely curls. 

“No one will know about this, Tommy. No one!” 

Tommy laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “Alright, my lips are sealed. Should we continue with the shopping?”

“Ugh, yes! We don’t really have any other choice,” Evan says, pouting. 

—

Evan starts to get fidgety again once they are back in the truck and driving to his loft. 

“Hey! We’ve got all the ingredients you need, right? It will be great, I know it,” Tommy tries to reassure him, his hand reaching over from the steering wheel and grabbing one of Evan's hands. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Evan gives him a barely there smile that is not fooling anybody. 

The nervousness and fidgeting get worse as they approach Evan’s door. He even takes his time opening it, doing it as slowly as possible. As soon as he opens it, though, he pulls Tommy inside and quickly closes and locks the door. 

Completely bewildered by the action, Tommy puts the groceries down. “Evan, what is go- what the hell is that?” 

There, by the loft window, is a cage. A cage with a turkey in it. A very much alive turkey. 

“It’s a turkey,” Evan replies too casually. 

“A tur- a turk… why do you have a turkey?” Tommy asks him, beyond confused. He even pinches his arm, trying to see if he is having a weird dream. Or maybe he got concussed when they fell in the supermarket. 

“So, funny story,” Evan starts. “You see, yesterday, we had a call to this place and this dude had an illegal turkey.” 

Tommy blinks once, twice, but he remains confused. “Ok? That doesn’t explain the turkey in your loft though.” 

“Right… the thing is that the dude was trying to get him to fight, sort of like cockfighting, you know? So, he is quite aggressive.”

“How aggressive?” Tommy asks, taking a step back.

He is suddenly having flashbacks of when they had responded to that call with Maurice… he shivers all over. 

“Quite a lot, unfortunately. That’s why I begged Bobby to let me take him to one of the farm sanctuaries or a center where they rehabilitate animals,” Evan tells him with a bright smile. 

Tommy doesn’t know where to start. “And Bobby just said yes?”

“Well, I had to be really convincing, say that I was afraid that Alex here would end up getting killed, and I might have also said that I was going to take him to a farm yesterday,” Evan says, blushing but shrugging his shoulders. “But I was too tired and today I already had plans with you… so I will take him tomorrow.”

“Ok, so you aren’t actually planning to keep him, then?” Tommy asks, extremely relieved, and ignoring the fact that of course already named the turkey. 

Evan opens his mouth but gets interrupted by Alex gobbling, startling them both.

“Jesus, that’s loud,” Tommy says, resisting the urge to cover his ears. 

“He is, which is why I was hoping that we could keep him in your house? I’m not allowed to have pets here,” Evan asks, looking adorable, peering at him through his eyelashes. 

Sighing in resignation, Tommy nods. One day he will be able to say no to Evan, but today is not that day. 

[justwhisperingfantasies]

You Belong With Me - One Shot

Characters: Reader (y/n) - Beau Arlen- Cassie Dewell - Jenny Hoyt - Denise Brisbane - Mo Poppernak - Tiffany (o.c)-Knox (o.c)-Pete (o.c) Mention of Cody Hoyt.

Warnings: Drinking, Language, Jealousy, Angst, Fluff, lmk if I missed any.

Summary: You're in love with your best friend, but he is with someone else. You try to move on when the new cute guy in town asks you on a date.

Word count: 4,042

Hope y'all enjoy it. 💜

Please don't copy my work

Like, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated 💜

If you would like to be added to my tag list click here

Reader's Pov

“I need a favor.” Cassie grimaced walking over to your desk.

“What now?” you playfully whined.

“I need you to go sweet talk your bestie about the getting a copy of the report.

“Cass, I don’t think he’ll be ok with that.” You took a drink of your coffee. “They sealed it.”

“Oh, come on it’s you. He’ll at least let you see it. I just need a couple dates.” You gave him an unamused look “Please.” You sighed and picked up your phone. “Thank you (y/n) I owe you one”

“Yea, yea, yea” you teased as you opened your contacts, you scrolled until you found his picture and tapped the call icon next to it. You put the phone up to your ear as it begins to ring.

“Hello Darlin’.” His gruffy voice stirred up the butterflies in your stomach.

“Hello, Sheriff Arlen.” You said in your best flirty voice. He chuckled. You returned to your normal voice. “How’s your day going?”

“It’s been alright. Checking up on paperwork. How’s yours?”

“Eh ok, I guess. I was just sitting here thinking and ya know what I  realized?”

“What’s that?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“I haven’t told my best friend was a handsome son of a bitch he is today."

He laughed. “What do you want?”

“Beau Arlen, I had offended you would accuse me of kissing ass to get something!”

He stayed silent for a second. “Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“Are you gonna tell me what you want.”

“Have you eaten lunch yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I’ll be there in 15.”

“Oh lord. What are you getting me into now sweetheart?”

“See ya soon.”

As you walk up to the front doors of the sheriff’s station armored with a paper sack containing one of Beau’s favorite sandwiches from a local dinner, you pass Mo. He tipped his hat.  “Mornin', little lady.” He said with a smile.

“Deputy.” You returned the smile with a nod.

“He’s in his office.” He told you as you grabbed the door handle.

“Thanks Pop!” you walked in and made your way back to his office, but he wasn’t there. You grin as an idea pops into your hand. You sit in his chair and clear a space. Careful not to mess up his organized chaos. Leaning back, you plop your boots on his desk and cross your ankles. When he opens the door ⁴ you lean back further and cross your arms behind your head.

He laughed. “Please make yourself at home.”

“Just trying to see how the other half lives.” You smiled at him. He laughed again. “Now I hope you don’t mind, but I did some paperwork organizing while I waited.”

He pressed his lips together and flared his nostrils. “Please tell me your kidding.”

Your grimaced “I thought I was helping.” You said as you sat up.

He rushed over to his paperwork and started looking through the piles. You inhaled through your nose as he leaned in front of you, taking in his intoxicating scent of blue vetiver, sandalwood and citrusy notes. He always smelled so good.

You started laughing. “Beau, I’m just messing with you. I know better than to mess with your system.” You put air quotes on the word system.

“Hey, my desk, my process.” He finally noticed the paper sack sitting on the empty side of his desk. “Is that?” he looked at you and pointed to the bag. You nodded. “Oh, you can have whatever you want.” He said as he unwrapped his sandwich.

You smiled. “Now remember you said that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get to it.” He said in between bites.

“I need a copy of the Goodwin report.” You gave him a big smile. He swallowed and his face went hard. “Or just the dates. Cassie has a theory, and she needs dates to confirm it.” you puckered your lips and stuck out your bottom one.” He stared at you, his face still hard as stone. “Please B.” You pleaded.

“Ya know you are putting me in a very difficult position sweetheart.”

“Nobody would know.” You turned on your puppy dog eyes.

He sighed “I can’t give you a hard copy, but I can give you dates...”

“That’s all I need.”

He leaned over you again onto his keyboard. “Look away.”

You rolled your eyes. “So paranoid.” You put your hands over your eyes. You can hear the lead on paper and he starts to hum. “Are you humming Elvis?”

“Yes. Ya know you never cease to amaze me. Not many people could recognize an Elvis song from a hum.” He stopped writing. “Alright.” He turned to face you and leaned against his desk. He held out the piece of paper but snatched it back as you reached for it. “Hold on there darlin’ he haven’t agreed on a price yet.”

Your jaw dropped. “Beaufort Arlen.” He rolled his eyes. That wasn’t his name and you knew it, but you could resist calling him that. His reaction was adorable.  “You want me to offer you a bribe?”

“No, not a bribe. More like one hell of a good cook persuading her handsome sheriff friend with her famous chicken and dumplings” He winked at you.

“Fine, but I won’t have time tonight.” You bargained. “I’ll drop them off tomorrow night.”

“Oh yeah. You’re date.” You nodded. “Maybe if you keep this one around you guys could double with me and Tiffany.” You rolled your eyes when he said her name, “Don’t be mean (y/n). She regrets what she did, and Things have been good lately.”

“Yeah, ok.” You stood up and he handed you the piece of paper. “Thanks for your help sheriff.” You head towards the door

He sighed. “Any time.”

Reader's Pov

“How did he smell today?” Denise asked you as you walked into the office.

You smiled and took a deep breath remembering his cologne. “Dreamy.”  You sink down in the chair in front of her desk.

She smiled. “And tell me why you never asked him out again?”

“Never got the chance. Tiffany just keeps weaseling her way back in, but” you pointed your finger at her. “I am over Beau Arlen.” She raised her eyebrows. “I am Denise. I have a date tonight.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, He’s name is Knox.”

“Oh, the new guy! He so cute.”

“I know. Which is why I said yes when he asked me out.” You turned your head as you heard the bell that hung above the door. “Speaking of cute.”

Cassie smiled. “Did you get it?”

“I got the dates. He said he couldn’t make me a copy.” You held out the paper for her.

“That will work.” She took it. “Thank you.” she started walking to her desk.

“Welcome.” You called after her.

“Well, I should probably get back to work, got a big ol’ pile of nothing to get back to.

“Hon you’ve closed 3 cases in the last 2 weeks, I’d say it’s a good time for a break.” Denise advised.

“Or you could do some digging for me and give me something to do.” You said with a smile.

“I can try, maybe you should call Beau.” She smiled and you rolled your eyes.

You made your way back over to your desk. You turn your computer on as you sit down. Drumming your finger while you watch the loading screen you decide to text him. You take your phone out of your jacket pocket and open it to your existing conversation.

Y/N: Beaufort

You opened your email while you waited for a reply. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

Your phone buzzed.

Beau: I’m all out of favors today darlin’

Y/N: Rude of you to assume I’m only texting you for a favor. I was actually gonna ask you if you needed help with anything.

Beau: Calm down. It was a joke. Not today. I’m still stuck at the office I have to get this paperwork done TODAY.

Y/N: Damnit. I need something to do.

Beau: Why don’t you go home early and get ready for this big date you have tonight.

Y/N: My big date isn’t until 7.  Are you saying I need 5 hours to pretty myself up.  🤔

Beau: You roll out of bed beautiful, and you know it. Just think you deserve to pamper yourself every once in awhile

Y/N: Nice save.

You hit the send button and turn off your screen. “Cassie!” You yelled.

“Yea?” she yelled back.

“Please tell me you need help with something!”

“Actually yes.”  You jumped out of your seat and rushed to her desk. “Are you that bored?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m freaking dying here.” She handed you the papers in her hand and started giving you the run down of the case she was working on.

“I’m right.” Cassie whispered as you finish  reading the dates that were in Beau’s handwriting to her.

“You’re right.” You reassured her.

“Holy shit. I have to go talk to Jenny.” She pulled her coat on. “See you at the bar tonight.”

“Um probably not. ”

“I’m sorry I forgot, I hope I don’t see you tonight,” she winked at you. “Can we give this one a fighting chance though?”

“Hardy har, har.”

Beau’s Pov

He sat down at the bar and looked up at the clock. 8:55. She’d probably be getting rid of the loser and walking through the door any minute now. “Hey Pete.” He said as the bartender approached him on the other side of the bar.

“How’s it going sheriff?” Pete said as he sat on a beer and a shot glass in front of Beau.

“We may need a bigger glass.” He told Pete as he poured the whiskey.

“That bad huh?” Pete asked. Beau just shook his head. He downed the shot of whiskey.

“I don’t know Jenny. She seemed different about this one.” Cassie said as her and Jenny walked up to the bar. “Hey Beau.”

“Ladies” Beau said tipping his hat.

“You want some company?” Jenny said as she sat on the barstool beside him.

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, geez don’t get too excited.” Cassie teased sitting on the other side of him

“What’s gotcha down?” Jenny asked as she got Pete’s attention. He brought over 2 more beers and 2 shot glasses for the girls. “

“Paperwork day, Jenny”

“Oh, that’s right.” Pete began pouring their shots and a second one for Beau. “Cheers” Jenny said holding the full shot glass up. Beau and Cassie repeated. The three of them took their shots and sat the glasses on the bar.

Beau looked up at the clock again, 9:00. Come on where was she?

“Pete, can we just get a bottle?” Jenny said grabbing her beer and her glass. Pete grabbed an unopened bottle of the same whiskey and handed it to her. “Thank you. Can you put it on my tab?” Pete nodded. “Grab your glasses and bottles.” She led them over to a high top by the dart board.

“You really wanna play darts?” Beau asked sitting his beer and glass on the table.

“Well not really, but it gets you away from that clock.”

“Touche.”

“Come on. We’ll make it fun. Every time someone gets a bullseye, we drink, every time someone misses the board, we drink.” Jenny persuaded.

“Every time someone throws a dart, we drink.” Cassie teased making Beau chuckle.

Jenny grabbed 3 darts of different colors, handing one color to Cassie and another to Beau. “Alright.” He gestured for her to go first.

They took turns throwing the darts on the board and he was actually having a decent time. After 3 shots he checked his phone. 9:30. What the hell.

“Well, I guess (y/n)’s date must be going well. 2 and a half hours. No calls, no texts, and she hasn’t shown up here yet.” Cassie said.

“Or she’s at home drinking alone.” Beau rebuttals

Jenny poured another round of shots. They clinked and downed them. “Beau, you’re up.”

As he was throwing his last dart, he heard Jenny let a whistle out. There she was finally. Beau threw his dart and turned around. His heart nearly exploded in his chest. She was wearing olive green western looking dress, low cut, very low cut. The lower hem dangle over her cowboy boots, His eyes traced up to her face, God she was just beautiful. Makeup done up all nice and her hair in curls under a cowboy hat that matched her boots. What he wouldn’t give to be the guy holding her hand right now. It should be him not this pretty country boy wannabe. Ugh he rolled his eyes. She smiled at them and mouthed the words oh my god as they made their way to the bar.

“Damn she looks good.” Jenny exclaimed.

“So does her date!” Cassie added as they sat down at their table. He purposely sat in the chair facing the opposite direction.

“He ain’t that good lookin’.” Beau sneered.

“Oh Beau. Don’t be jealous. You know we love you too.” Cassie teased.

His ears got hot as he heard her laugh. Clearly, she was interested in this guy.  He huffed and poured himself a shot.

“Hey pretty lady!” Cassie said as (y/n) walked up to the table.

She smiled. “Hey guys. This is Knox.”  She gestured towards him. “Knox. These are my best friends. Jenny,” Jenny put out her hand the Knox shook it. “Cassie.” They repeated. “And this is Beau.”

He put his hand out “Sheriff Beau Arlen. I’m sorry Knot was it” (y/n) glared at him.

Knox chuckled. “No sir, Knox” he emphasized the x on the end. “With a x”

“My bad.” Beau said with a smile.

“So, tell us Knox what do you do?” Jenny asked.

“I’m a veterinarian.” She raised her eyebrows at Cassie.

“Oh, are you going to work at Andy’s place?” Jenny asked

“Until I take it over.” Jenny and Cassie furrowed their eyebrows. “Andy is my dad. He is fixin’ to retire within the next year or so.”

Beau’s phone started to ring. “That’s probably Tiff.” He noticed (y/n)’s eye roll. “I should get going anyways. See you girls tomorrow. Box nice meeting you.” She shook her head. “Good night y’all.”

Reader's Pov

Today was your return to the office after taking a 3-day week. You and Knox made things official after 4 weeks of dating. He took you out to his family’s lake house for the weekend to celebrate. You took a deep breath and walked through the door.

A big grin spread across Denise’s face when she looked up “How was he. I mean it? “

You chuckled. “It was good.” You turn to walk to your desk

“The weekend or the sex?” she asked.

“Both.” You said and started walking. She chuckled.

As you sat down your phone started ringing. You looked at the screen “Really?” you said out loud. It was Beau, you haven’t really seen or talked to him in about 2 or 3 weeks, only in passing. Wonder what he wants you thought to yourself.

“Beaufort. What’s wrong?”

“You busy today?”

“not sure I just got in.”

“ok well find out and let me know. I need you.”

“Ok. Let me talk to Cass and I’ll call you back.”

“Ok.” He hung up.

“Ok Beau.” You opened the door to find him pacing in his office. “what’s wrong?”

“Should I ask Tiffany to marry me?” He blurted out.

“Um excuse me?” You practically fell into the nearest chair as your legs went numb from shock.

“So, this morning as I was leaving Tiffany stopped me and told me 3 years is long enough to know whether I want to marry her or not.”

Your eyes widened as your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

“Well, what did you tell her?”

“I told her I couldn’t do this right now. I had to get to work. And if I was gonna ask her to marry me it was going to be on my terms. Not her forcing me into it.”

You know the question you had to ask, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want the answer. Your heart hastened as you though over what he would say. “ Do you want to marry her?” you couldn’t hid the quiver in your voice.

“I don’t know.”

You pulled on the bill of your baseball cap trying to hide the tears building in your eyes. “Do you love her?”

“ I’ve stuck by her through everything. The lying, the cheating.”

“That’s not what I asked B.” You began to blink rapidly trying everything that wasn’t too obvious to dry out your eyes.

“Why would I do all that if I didn’t.” He stopped mid step. “I think I should just do it. We’ve been together this long. And I’ll probably be with her for the rest of my life anyhow.”

“Well that’s a hell of a reason.” The words came out before you could stop them.

“Look I know you’re not here biggest fan, but I do care for her. It’s going to be hard to keep a friend that is mean to my fiancée don’t ya think.”

You shot up out of the chair. The nervousness and pain you felt turned into a white-hot rage. “Are you fucking kidding me right now Beau?!” Your hands begin to shake. You can’t hold back the things you’ve been dying to say for so long. “She cheated on you for 2 months. Several times. It’s not like it was a one-time mistake. God, I swear you’re as dumb as a box of rocks! I have absolutely no idea why you would stay with her. And if you really wanna marry someone that takes the greatest person on the face of this earth for granted, then be my freakin guest.” He just looked at you with a dumbfounded look on your face. Tears started coming back and you didn’t bother trying to stop them. “Beau you are my best friend, and I love you, but I can not and will not sit here and watch you throw your life away and marry her.” He opened his mouth; you continued not giving him a chance to argue. “I really don’t want to be this person, and I hate that I am saying this. but I can’t be your friend if you do this.” You walked out the door, not giving him the chance to tell you he was going through with it anyway. You heard him yell after you, but you couldn’t stop. You just wanted to get away from everything.

Beau’s Pov.

He sighed as he got back into his Defender. He pulled his phone out to call (y/n) for the 17th time, straight to voicemail. “Son of a bitch.” He yell as he hit the steering wheel. He scrolled in his contracts and hit the green icon. “Cassie.”

“What’s up Beau?”

“Please tell me you’ve from (y/n)”

“I thought she was with you.”

“Are you at the office?”

“Yea? What the hell happened Beau?”

“Ill tell you when I get there.”

Denise and Cassie jumped as Beau charged through the door. “You guys really haven’t seen or talked to her?” He asked.

“No. Tell us what happened!” Cassie demanded.

“Well, I called her and told her I needed her help. I was given an ultimatum this morning.” Cassie raised her eyebrows. He went over the fight with them. “And then she stormed out.”

“Oh, Beau. I can’t believe you don’t see it” Denise realized what she had said and put her hands over her mouth.

“See what?” he asked

“Never mind. I’ll make some coffee.” Denise walked away.

“Her phone is going straight to voicemail. She’s not at the bar, not at her house. I tried the dinner, a couple parks I know she likes, I tried the gazebo by the lake, I have looked literally everywhere, Cassie, I can’t find her.” He was anxious and jittery. They have had some fights in the past. The one they got into was when he took tiffany back was especially bad, but she was always waiting at the bar for him with a beer and a shot.

“Just calm down. Give me a minute.” Cassie got up and walked to the kitchen. “What do you know Denise?”

“I shouldn’t had said anything.” She kept her back to Cassie. “It’s not my business.”

Cassie walked up to her and put her hand on Denise’s shoulder “Denise.”

“I thought it was pretty dang obvious, but I guess not. She’s in love with Beau. Has been since she’s known him. That’s why she never keeps a man around. She’s been hoping one day he would wake up and realize.”

Beau felt the air leave his lungs as he leaned on the kitchen doorframe. She was in love with him. This had to be a joke. What was so special about him? There’s no way someone like her could love him. “She’s in love with me?”

Cassie and Denise spun around. “Frick.” Denise said.

Cassie’s phone started to ring. “Hey (y/n).” His eyes shot to Cassie. She was nodding. “Alright. I understand. Take the day. I’ll see you in the morning, ok?” “If you need anything just call, ok?” ok.” Cassie hung up and walked to her desk. Beau followed. She started writing on a piece of paper.

“Are you going.”

“Go to the Strickland stables. Follow these directions.” She handed him the paper. “She’ll be there.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Trust me.” she shook the paper at him.

Reader’s pov.

You inhaled deeply looking out at the view as you sat on the wooden fence. You turned your head as you heard the swishing of the grass on jeans. “Cassie told you where I’d be huh?”

“She wrote me out directions.” He leaned on the fence beside you. “She told me you used to come here with your brother.”

“Yeah, Cody would bring me up here back in the day, when life got too stressful. When we were kids, he told me to throw my problems at the mountains and they would throw solutions back.” You said with a chuckled. The cold wind made the tear drop’s trails sting your skin.

“They give you anything good today?”

“Not really.”

“Can I try?”

You chuckled. “Sure.” He hopped over the fence and stood in front of you. After a minute or two he turned back to you with a big smile on his face. You hopped down. “What did they say?”.

He took a couple steps. He was close. “They told me to stop being such a chicken and do this. He pulled you into him, his hands cupping your face as he leaned in, the anticipation crackling in the air. Then, with a swift, decisive movement, he dipped you backwards, your heels lifted off the ground, his lips meeting yours in a fervent collision, as your bodies pressed tightly together, the world around you faded away.

He brought you back up and rested his forehead against yours. “Well. That was. Some. Damn. Good advice.” You said between heavy pants. He chuckled and kissed you again. You smiled with wide eyes as a thought popped into your head.

“What?”

"I just realized that I have several more ways to persuade you now."

his head lifted as he let out a laugh.

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[damn-stark]

Chapter 31 In that big ol’ room

Chapter 31 of Moonlight

A/N- we’re close to the end :(

Warning- talks of postpartum depression, ANGST, swearing, violence, fire, blood, and DEATH. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 535-539

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

The memory of her death, even though it was recent and still a raw one in your mind, can’t stop playing in your head over and over again.

Like a veil it obscures your vision, not letting you take a good look at the newborn babies you just gave birth to, and here's the thing, as bad as it sounds you don’t care to look at them. Even if you cradle them both in your arms you can’t find that joy or relief to look at their red little faces and wait for their eyes to open to tell you who their father might be.

You keep the veil over your face like a badge of honor to remind yourself why you wear it. You don’t want to forget even if it's impossible to do so. Does it make you a terrible mother?

All you wanted to be as a mother was to be the mother yours was to you. You want to nuzzle with all three of your babies now that you’re together. You want to love them and let go of your pain, but…then Daenys begins to cry a shrieking cry and it takes you back to that moment where your mother shrieked before she burnt, and you’re bombarded with frustration.

“Take them,” you demand and turn to the edge of the bed to let a handmaiden take them from your arms so they can shush the shrieking babe.

However, she only cries louder and your frustration starts to torture you by bringing rage along.

You try to shake it off, but as you close your eyes the memory of your mother burning plays vividly so you quickly snap your eyes open and simply sit there ruminating in your anger and frustration, hoping it’ll fade into something you can manage, but alas, that veil only gets thicker to the point you can’t see what’s in front of you. All that exists is your anger and…a desire—no, an obligation to kill Aegon for what he did. It doesn’t matter if they end up killing you in the process.

You don’t care as long as he’s dead too.

He has to die…

Thus in a blinded rage, you swipe the scissors that the handmaidens used to cut the twin’s umbilical cord and then drag yourself off the bed, catching the immediate attention of all the handmaidens.

“Princess what are you doing?! You should not be moving!” Vanessa warns you and rushes to your side to attempt and move you back to bed, but you put your hand up to stop her.

“Leave me,” you snap without meeting her gaze. “I am going to try and call to my dragon,” you lie and push yourself off the bed, causing your bloody and soaked gown to fall over your body, and feeling sharp pains shooting throughout your body, threatening to keep you down, but you just clutch onto your belly and swallow back your pained groan before you start to drag your feet without bothering to put anything on your feet.

You just start walking, making the poor handmaidens' hearts hurt with pity and concern.

“Don’t dare and follow me,” you warn them as you keep the scissors hidden in your sleeve so they won’t stop you.

“But—”

“No,” you cut them off and leave out the door where guards are there to greet you. “If you follow me I won’t need my dragon to kill you. I’ll do it myself,” you warn them bitterly.

However, unlike the handmaidens, they move to trail after you, making you bring yourself to a stop and peer over your shoulder with a glare. “I said. Stay,” you grimace. “Guard the twins. They are more important. What threat can I be anyway?” You try to deceive them, and after a moment of debate, they step back to their previous position, letting you continue to trudge forward.

However, every step you take is a cruel reminder of what you just went through. And with every step you want to stop and take a break, but you keep moving your bare feet and exhausted body forward because what is your pain compared to the pain your mother went through every single second before she was ripped apart?

Nothing…that’s what. Nothing compares to the suffering she went through. It's why you keep moving forward. It’s why you clench your jaw as you grow angrier, and it’s why you clutch onto the scissors you keep hidden. Even though you have no idea where Aegon is, you keep moving—then again is it really hard to find him as he’s bound to that wooden chair?

Not likely. He can only be in so many places. Is it the throne room? The master quarters? Or the meeting room?

You’ll go search in all of them if you have to. Even if you’re writhing in agony you will find him. After all, what does he know of Dragonstone? He’s never called it home like you have. This is your home! Yours! Your mothers, your brothers, your cousins, and your children’s home! Not his! So you will find Aegon.

Aegon.

Aegon.

Aegon.

Aegon…

After a while of stalking through those corridors like a vengeful ghost terrorizing the castle, you finally catch the sound of his voice coming from the meeting room. He’s not alone either, you can hear Ser Alfred and Lord Larys with him too, but it’s okay you can wait and if they don't leave his side then you’ll still ram your scissors through Aegon’s throat.

You wait first though. Just for a while.

“…killing Lord Corlys Velaryon would not be a wise action. Even if Ser Alfred has a point about having Rhaenyra's allies suffer consequences, he still has the greatest fleet and a bastard boy who will never ally with us.”

Aegon hums before he interjects. “Then…we make him bend the knee and ask for forgiveness. He did turn against Rhaenyra when she imprisoned him, besides…his counsel would be welcome.”

The corner of your lips curl to a scowl and your grip around the scissors only tightens more.

“If he doesn’t comply we have his granddaughters in our grasp. We will just threaten one of their lives until he bends the knee,” he shares without an ounce of hesitation. His words just roll off of his tongue.

“That will surely work, but I’m certain we won’t have to take those measures,” Lord Larys says before Ser Alfred cuts in.

“That is if he doesn’t call to his other granddaughter, Lady Rhaena, and her wild dragon. With Astraea still alive, they could use Lord Stark’s new host and Lady Arryn’s host to turn against us. And we don’t have the numbers to compete.”

Aegon scoffs with displeasure and Ser Alfred continues with a bit of hesitation.

“That is why I suggest we kill Rhaenyra’s son Aegon…”

Your pinched eyebrows falter as the rage contorting your face turns to disbelief for a second.

“…That way they don’t have an heir to use against us. With Prince Aemond’s son you don’t need Aegon as heir, nor will your niece be a threat with her now betrothed to Lord Stark. Killing Aegon will discourage the forces, it will show them that we still have power and that we are not to be trifled with.”

No. No. No…

Aegon can’t die too. Your mother would have fought to the death to keep him alive; her last living son.

Plus, he is your brother. Even if you weren’t raised together and he’s more like a stranger to you, he’s still the last living brother you have so he can’t die. You can’t let him die, and…you…won’t. Even if it means swallowing your anger and your pride you will keep him alive.

Thus after a deep shuddering breath, you drop the scissors meant to kill Aegon, making a loud clattering sound the moment the metal hits the floor. After that, you draw out another trembling breath before you slowly step out of hiding and come across guards on their way to investigate the noise.

“I have come to see the King,” you mutter in defeat and ignore the way they look at you with disgust as you’re still wearing your birthing gown and have not cleaned any of your sweat, tears, or blood.

“This…way,” one guard points to the hall as he steps aside, letting you push your chin up and continue to trudge forward.

Once you’re in the sights of all three men you bring yourself to a halt and force yourself to drag your eyes toward Aegon, even if it brings you more pain than when you were walking where you are.

“Princess,” Ser Alfred gasps.

“Bring—”

“No,” you cut Lord Larys off and hold your belly. “I come to say one thing.”

You draw in a deep breath as you hesitate to form your next words.

You will say what you came here to say, there’s no doubt about it. But even if it hurts to admit it, having to sacrifice your own dreams to save your brother wounds you deeply because it’s Aegon; the man who killed your mother, the man who you always hated, and the man who has always been so perverted and gross. Furthermore, after having immunity by being betrothed to Cregan, Aegon is taking that away too.

“I,” you breathe out and break your silence, but don’t continue right away. First, you fall to your knees with a pained groan and then, continue with your head hanging. “…Will marry you.”

You miss the looks that are shared and fail to look strong and nonchalant. Your voice and your face both expose your weakness as those words pierce your soul.

“Just please,” you beg in a quivering voice. “Don't kill my brother. He-he can go to the wall the moment he turns of age. Just please, please don’t kill him,” you plead in the same desperation you used to plead for your mother's life.

“He’s all I have left of my family,” you whisper. “Please, Aegon. He doesn’t even have to be raised in the Red Keep, you can send him to be someone’s ward. Just please…don’t kill him.”

You can hear shifting and wood creaking before Aegon’s voice makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and a twinge of anger sparks back where it had been burning before.

“Look at me,” he says smugly because he has control over you like never before. And even if you don’t want to meet his gaze. Even if the thought disgusts and angers you, you slowly pull your head up and meet his gaze with a hardened look.

“I accept your proposal. It’s a relief you came to your senses, my sweet niece. Just tell me you renounce your betrothed Lord Stark and you are mine.”

You swallow back thickly and feel your lips twitch down before you open your mouth and respond with dread. “I do. I renounce my betrothed Lord Cregan Stark.”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“Were my letters sent?”

“Yes,” Vanessa gives your question a response before leaving you in your solitude once again.

“<I love you.>”.

Tears slipped past her eyes…small beads of salt and sorrow littered water rolled down her face the same way they involuntarily run down your cheeks right now. You remember.

Having memories is a blessing. The way one's mind can recall things that happened in the past is truly fascinating, but right now, like every other second since your mother died, your mind and your memories are cruel. They bring such a visceral physical aching pain that can’t be tamed, it's so deafening and it makes you grow overwhelmed fast. It doesn't even let you find solace in the sun's touch because you refuse to welcome its cold embrace.

Usually admiring the sea is a quick calming effect too, but even though you’re surrounded by it as you remain in Dragonstone, you refuse to look at it; almost as if it is guilty of causing your pain.

Lastly, being with Aerion is a great way to bring a smile to your face and relax your current aching heart, but you can’t be your children’s mother right now. You tried, you really have tried, but that connection feels like it’s blocked by the entity that is your rage, grief, and sorrow. It feels like you can’t love them until you take care of that which brought you pain and took everything away from you. Is it cruel?

Maybe, but you did make it your task to at least study your twins to know how they look, and you can say that Daenys has the same blond-silver hair and blue eyes Aemond had. It’s too soon to tell but you have a feeling she’s going to look like him too. As for Daenerys, she’s smaller just like she was in the womb; she’s a lot slimmer than her sister too, and her eyes are…grey, but Vanessa says that she’s far too young to really know if that’s the eye color she’ll have forever. They might change colors as she grows older, so the jury is still out on who her father might be, more so because her hair color is white-silver just like yours, which, that in itself is good. It’s something you don’t have to worry about anymore.

So now all that you’re pestered with is that you can’t be the mother that your children so desperately need. With Aerion grown so attached to your mother, he’s missing her terribly. He won’t stop calling out for her, and it hurts because you’re here but you can’t make yourself comfort him, and it’s not because you don’t want to, you do, but…there’s just so much pain that you can't scrape up an ounce of any other emotion besides anger. Loud, throbbing, and agonizing anger that makes you scream out to the ground as you fold over the edge of the bed.

Does that ease everything that torments you? No, but it lets you stand up and walk out of your chambers—at least Aegon lets you have free reign of the castle since you are his betrothed and because he knows you won’t risk your brother's life since he holds it in the palm of his hand.

Alas, when you step out and try to walk to the library or anywhere you can spend your time where Aegon won’t be, you’re reminded of your mother. The memory of her haunts every hall and every corridor, so you can either return to your quarters or go…visit Baela. You haven’t gone to see her or attempted to free her from her imprisonment because once again it’s your emotions that keep you away, they’ve kept you captive and isolated in your lonesome to let you simmer in your rage-born hatred.

However, you have nothing to do now and Baela has no clue what happened—and how can you let her continue with her days thinking of a life that no longer exists? And if you can’t muster an ounce of warmth then she at least deserves to know the truth. Thus after some hesitation, you make your way to the cells at the lowest part of the castle, but linger in the shadows for a moment and debate returning to the isolation of your chambers as you imagine how the interaction could play out.

She could hate you and she could also blame you for your mother's death, but if she doesn’t know she wouldn’t have the ability to do any of those things.

Yet she needs to know, so after a deep breath you slowly walk out of the shadows and make your way to the only occupied cell. Right away Baela spots the shadow that casts on the cell floor and lets her curiosity get answered by looking over and seeing you standing at the other side of those bars.

“Baela,” you greet her with a whisper and she takes a few more hard blinks before she shoves herself to her feet and rushes to the bars, letting you notice that she looks slimmer than the last time you saw her, and she has burn scars on one part of her face. She also has short hair now too so she sports a cute afro.

“The twins,” she says after she uttered your name with a surprised gasp. “They’re born?”

You offer her the ghost of a smile and nod. “Yes, girls, Daenys and Daenerys.”

Baela sighs with relief and offers you a sweet and happy smile that you can’t mirror. She’s quick to notice it; along with your drooped eyes and falling lips. Yet before she can interject you beat her to speaking.

“Aegon told me about what happened. I’m sorry about Moondancer,” you offer her your condolences and linger where you are for a second before you step forward and gently wrap your hands around hers.

“She went out fighting,” her voice quivers, and her eyes water. “And she might have not killed Sunfyre but…”

“He can't fly because of Moondancer, he’s rotting away in the courtyard,” you cut her off to offer her some hope before the dread is revealed.

“Sunfyre is dying?” Baela queries with a twitch of her lips.

“He is.” You nod. “No doubt about it. He should die any day now.”

Baela musters a faint smirk before lifting her chin and slowly looking at you in confusion. “What are you doing here without chains? Is Astraea okay?”

You nod lightly. “She suffered some injuries at the Second Battle at Tumbleton, but she will be fine. She’s just off the Island for now.”

Baela scoffs and passes you an amused look. “Why? Are you two upset with each other?”

You swallow back thickly and let the silence build up as you admire the way she manages to smile in such gloomy times and in such a dark space.

“No,” you mumble after a moment of admiration and drop your head to let out a heavy sigh whilst your grip unknowingly tightens around her hands. “Baela listen to me…I’m here because I was hurt in the battle at Tumbleton. Astraea brought me here and Aegon and his party were able to hold me captive,” you pause and she tries to slip her grasp from under your hold, but you refuse to let go.

“Okay,” Baela whispers.

“In my captivity, I attempted to escape to find my mother, and I did find her, but,” you swallow back the lump that was quick to form in your throat. “She was already here. I couldn’t even sail past the island,” you mutter and find it hard to look up at Baela even though you’re curious about her current reaction.

“I tried to save her. I swam and ran to her to try and save her, but…I-I was too late,” your voice quivers and you feel Baela stiffen under your grasp—“they overwhelmed us and Ser Jason betrayed us, so they were able to take us. That’s…when…Aegon,” you gasp shakily. “He…killed her,” you let out with a growl as your anger overturns the sorrow that was clinging in your throat.

“No,” Baela whispers. “No. No…” she trails off and manages to yank her hands from under your grasp.

You continue to look at the ground beneath your feet, but you hear her back away in the growing silence.

And it’s in the silence that violent memories of that night come forth and you stop feeling sorry for yourself. You push back your grief and sorrow, and let your agony, your loud and throbbing rage come forth to take control of every part of you.

“But it’s okay,” you interject in a voice that finally holds emotion, but not warmth to comfort her, a coldness that only accompanies the bad. “It’s okay, Baela,” you continue and look at her with a gaze bathing in raging flames of malice, giving Baela chills when she finds your eyes.

“<Because I will avenge her. I will avenge our Queen,” you say in Valyrian so the guards nearby won’t understand. “I’m set to marry Aegon, and it’s when I become his Queen and garner some of his trust that I will kill him. We will.>”

Baela watches you with concern as your eyes grow dark and a wicked smirk paints on your lips. Yet she also feels relieved that your mother will be avenged. It’s that fire that will keep the war alive and bring justice.

However, you then continue adding on to your plans.

“<But not before I burn down the part of King’s Landing that killed Joffrey and forced my mother to flee,>” you reveal without remorse or a hint of deceit, only coldness and madness, and that’s when Baela’s concern outgrows her own thirst for revenge because hasn’t she lost enough?

“<But you can’t,>” she protests your plans in Valyrian and makes your face contort with confusion.

“<But I can,” you counter. “I have the means to. I have my dragon. And they deserve it. How can they go unpunished when they rose up against the crown? Besides,” you scoff. “Say what you want about Aegon, but he is still a Targaryen and those were our dragons, he’ll let me take revenge and put those people in their place.>”

Baela makes her way back to the bars and you see her eyes are still gleaming, but now as she speaks you know she doesn’t cry for your mother, she’s tearing up out of a gnawing worry. “<But what will raining fire down on those people cost but your life? Your own humanity?>”

“<Humanity?>” You quip and feel your face twist back with anger. “<Did they have humanity when they killed my son's dragon? Or every other dragon that lived in that pit, at that? Did they have humanity when they rose up against a woman trying to help them?!>” You raise your voice and grip onto those bars with a deadly grip.

“Perhaps not,” Baela counters in the common tongue. “<But that’s when you become the bigger person and show them we can still be a fraction they can trust and believe in. We can have them help us in our fight against the traitors that still remain!>”

You look at her as if she offended you and shake your head. “But don’t you get it? It was because they turned against my mother that she had to flee. It was because of them that she’s dead! There's no point in saving such traitorous and disgusting people. Don’t you see?”

“And don’t you see that raining fire will result in more smallfolk asking for your head?!” She exclaims. “Don't you see that it will turn you into someone unrecognizable that you won’t even comprehend? You will lose yourself!”

You clench your jaw and lower your jaw as your glare turns fierce.

“Let it go,” Baela warns. “Let all that anger and thirst for revenge go because it will kill you and I have already lost enough. We both have. Just do it the right away. It may be a longer path but it won’t get you killed.”

You blink as you take in her words. Not because you’re considering them, but because you don’t know what to answer with. Not at that moment.

“No,” is all you muster, and fall quiet again, letting her draw out a deep breath and linger in the growing silence for a moment before you finally blurt words that just bombard your mind. “What if it had been Jace?”

“Don’t,” Baela warns but you continue and lean your face towards the bar.

“I will,” you rebuttal and keep going. “If it had been Jace who had died in that riot you would not think twice about doing what I want to do even if it cost your life!”

“I said don’t!” Baela exclaims and slams her hands on the bars hoping it will scare you off, but you just stare deep into her eyes and try to press her.

Yet there’s no buttons to push. Anger perhaps reigned over her once, but you don’t see it now through the windows that let you take a peek at her tired soul.

“Do what you want,” she says and follows up with your name as she continues. “Just don’t expect me to have your back because your mother is the last person I will grieve in this war,” she remarks and backs away toward the shadows of her cell. “I won’t hold a candle for you anymore,” she adds with an attempt at sounding angry but she sounds more sad than anything else.

“Okay,” you mutter and blink repeatedly, feeling your eyes sting with tears that build up in your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. You draw in a deep breath and nod stiffly in comprehension before you turn and storm away with your agitation almost rising off your head in the form of steam.

How could she of all people expect you to let your anger go? Why can’t she muster the energy to keep pushing a little longer? Isn’t her grief, rage, and agony loud and chaotic too?

Nevertheless, when you reach the door and try to leave the dungeon, the door opens and guards barge in.

There’s no one else in this dungeon for them to take so even if you're pissed off at Baela, you stop in your tracks and turn on your heels to watch them open her cell.

“What are you doing?” You probe with curiosity and worry that form quickly.

When neither of the men answers, you march over to the man yanking Baela out of her cell, and demand an answer. “Where are you taking Lady Baela? Answer me!”

The guard looks at you from the corner of his eyes and deadpans. “The King wants to see her in the courtyard.”

What? What for?

These men won’t answer you, they hardly wanted to answer your previous question, so you turn swiftly and storm past them to reach the courtyard first. That’s when you come to a stop though and get riddled with disgust when the stench of rotting flesh hits your nose before you’re shocked to see that Sunfyre is no longer struggling to stay alive. He’s dead, and Aegon…when you let yourself take him in you notice that his eyes are red and puffy, but they're also mixed with anger.

“What do you want from Baela?” You demand him and struggle to hold his gaze.

“So you do come out of your chambers?” Aegon remarks and doesn’t hold amusement or any kind of teasing glint, his gaze remains narrowed and locked on you. “You’ll see.”

You huff and stomp toward him to keep pressing him, but his sad attempt at a Kingsguard puts themselves in between him and you, leaving only glares to be passed and challenged until Baela is brought forth.

“Sunfyre is dead,” Aegon blurts but there’s a hint of…sadness in his voice and why wouldn’t there be? No matter what you feel about Aegon, he was still a dragonrider and his bond with his dragon was like yours with Astraea, so it’s easy to tell why he expresses such sadness.

“And it’s because of you and your damned dragon,” Aegon hisses and has the guards move aside to let him pass and drag his wooden chair toward Baela. “So it’s good your dragon paid the price, but now you must pay it too.”

“No,” you interrupt him and take a big step forward to try and get close, but a guard once again steps in between and blocks you away from Aegon with his arm.

“I renounced my betrothed to be yours. I am going to be your willing wife once we return to King’s Landing,” you remind him with distress building in your voice. “Which means that our sins have been pardoned, you cannot kill her. Spare her life.”

Aegon tilts his head and shakes it. “No. I already spared your brother's life. He’s a threat to my claim, but I spared him because you and I will marry. That was the only condition you could be granted. No more. She will die for what she did,” he spats in return and then snaps his gaze to the guards holding Baela so they can drag her to the block.

“Aegon!” You exclaim and look at him with desperation. The same desperation you used when your mother was in a similar position. “Please!”

“<I love you.>”.

You gasp and try to move toward Baela now that you have free range, but the guard that had kept you from Aegon wraps his arms around your waist to hold you back, making those words that just echoed in your head get louder, and making the image of her, your mother start forming in your mind and threaten to paralyze you.

“<I love you.>”.

No. No, no, go away. Go away…

“Aegon, please,” you whisper and look over at him with tears that are quick to form in your eyes. “She’s still your cousin. She…she…” you trail off as the image of your mother appears before you in the same way before she died, so you’re forcefully ripped away from the current moment and return to that night.

You see her as clear as day all over again. You see her in front of Sunfyre.

You want to save her, but you can’t. Once again you’re useless in the situation and you watch as the fire bathes her all over again, ripping her away from you.

“NOO!” You bellow and reach out for her, but the moment you blink you’re brought back to reality and Baela is now taking your mother's place.

“The princess is right about sparing Lady Baela’s life,” the new maester interjects and glances at you with concern. “She is still a Velaryon, daughter to Lady Laena, and granddaughter to Lord Corlys. If you kill her he might turn his fleet against you and trap you here. There has been no word about him declaring war so it’s safe to assume you can negotiate a deal but only if his remaining kin are left alive.”

You keep your eyes on Aegon to wait and watch him ponder the decision laid before him while Baela’s head remains on the chopping block.

“Aegon,” you mumble but don’t gain his attention. He keeps his eyes averted and remains silent until he comes up with his answer.

“Alright then. Send a letter to the Sea Snake’s bastard…the living one,” he snickers and steals a glance at you so you know he’s taunting you. “Tell him if he doesn’t present himself in a fortnight to pay homage to his rightful liege, his niece Lady Baela will die.”

The maester bows and scurries off, whilst the guards pull Baela to her feet and without needing to be told, they start dragging her back where they had brought her from, letting you draw out a deep relieved breath, and part away from the guard still holding you back to get close to Baela.

Albeit it’s when you’re near her that she drags her eyes toward you and mutters. “I did not need your help nor did this change my mind about you.”

You blink in disbelief and draw in a shaky breath of shock before you push your nose up in the air and nod stiffly because this hasn’t changed your mind about what you need to do. “If that’s what you want I won’t beg for your attention.”

You let out a deep breath and watch her get taken away with your jaw clenched, and your eyes cloudy with tears unaware of the fact that that would be the last time you would see her. Not forever, but while you waited for a response you were restricted from going down to the dungeons—so much for free range. So you were left waiting in your quarters for days and days for any response whether it was a direct attack or a letter.

Then again, you did not mind being still and waiting because it let you plan what you wanted to do to get rid of Aegon once and for all. Besides, you weren't desperate to look for some way to talk to Baela either. Perhaps you should’ve snuck your way down to the dungeons and made peace with her—it’s what your mother and Jacaerys would have told you to do, but you heard what she said, and you were being honest in what you said too, so you kept your word while you were waiting in your solitude and just planned and let yourself get lost in your thoughts again and again.

That is until finally word came from Kings Landing that your grandfather Lord Corlys had declared his loyalty to Aegon, and that he was pardoned and accepted back in the Small Council after declaring his allegiance to the Broken King. In turn, Baela was spared from her fate and finally brought out from the dark dungeon, but not spared from chains. She would be kept in chains until you reached Kings Landing, which won’t be long now because at long last, “we’re going home”, left Aegon’s lips.

Thus finally after weeks, you were allowed to leave the grey walls and haunting halls of Dragonstone. Yet what was leaving Dragonstone really worth when every waking hour, with every step you take, and every breath you breathe you’re reminded of her, your mother, and her death.

The memory of her death is like a never-ending loop that the sight of the sea can’t wash away while you’re on your way back to King's Landing. Which is such a shame because you really love the sea...

“You know,” you say to Aegon after you debated long and hard if you wanted to speak to him or not—“it was the Smallfolk who killed all the dragons. They’re the ones to blame for not letting you have access to a new dragon.”

Aegon watches the waves splitting against the ship while you watch the clouds with a hint of a smirk.

“I know,” Aegon mutters.

“We have to respond to their treason and rebellion with fire,” you share as you catch a large, winged shadow form in the clouds. “We have to remind them that there are consequences to their actions and that we are still the crown and that they are sheep. Even if they did defy the opposing side.”

Aegon doesn’t respond right away, he stays quiet and continues to watch the way the waves part.

“What would you have me do?” Aegon almost snaps at you, but he manages to keep his composure and just sounds annoyed.

“Let me rain fire on them,” you share the plan you’ve been brewing for a while. “Not the entire city, just a section of it so they remember we hold the power. That they have to look up at us. We are not their equal.”

Aegon slowly diverts his eyes away from the waves and starts to turn his head to look at you, but before he can take a glance the sound of clicking coming from above steals his attention before a roar that rattles the wooden boards and shakes the water's surface blasts from the clouds.

“Why should I trust you not turning against me when you’re on your dragon?” He asks the right question as claws and a purple-scaled belly break the clouds as Astraea reveals only a part of herself first before she dives down in front of the running ship and quickly yet shakily swoops up to the air with a large fish caught in her claws.

“Because,” you say with a faint smile as you watch your dragon go back to hiding in the clouds. “You have my brother's life in your hands and I will do anything to keep my last remaining brother alive.”

You finally drop your eyes to look down at Aegon and await his response, knowing that he knows that if he doesn’t act, people will view him as weak and he doesn’t want people to keep thinking that about him. Not anymore because after all that’s happened he’s still alive and the King.

“Fine. Do it,” Aegon gives in, causing a wicked smirk to break on your lips.

——

“Who is it that you wanted to be?”

A peaceful tranquility can almost be felt radiating from Shae’s Manse as the brisk wind running over King’s Landing almost seems to carry it in between its gusts that hit you while you sit upon your dragon; causing your long sleeves designed like dragon wings, and the end of your crimson dipped skirt to blow behind you while your shining silver chain head peace that falls over your face like a veil, sings as the wind makes the silver chains hit each other lightly.

“Besides wanting to be a sailor, or an explorer, or a singer, I wanted to be Queen; a kind one like my great, great grandmother Queen Alyssane, and my ancestor Queen Rhaenys.”

You’ve had time to think about what you wanted to do and yes there were moments in time when you hesitated and wanted to back off from your plan for the sake of the innocent lives that had to do with running your mother out of town. However, just as your plans fire is going to die out, the sparks of anger, revenge, and agony keep it alive because that same mother returns to haunt your thoughts, and then you can’t stand the thought of the people’s betrayal going unpunished.

Besides, they had their chance and they wasted it. They chose fear, so you will give them something to fear.

“<Forward.>” You command Astraea in Valyrian and nudge the handles down regardless of your verbal command. All without changing a single expression on your face. Even if you're full of rage, your exhaustion, grief, and agony keep their claim on your face, exposing someone who looks empty and tired of everything life has thrown at them, even something as small as expressing emotion.

Then again you are tired. You’re tired of it all. You just want silence and a moment of stillness and where else can you find it but here? In this current moment as Astraea flies past the wall and brings the Smallfolk a moment of darkness as her shadow casts over the streets, homes, and busybodies.

However, the darkness doesn’t scare them right away because when they look up they see The Adventurous Astraea, a dragon known as tolerant to people, protective and kind to those you love, and obedient to her rider. So they look away from the purple beast. Some welcome the dragon as they start to feel immediately safer due to all the criminal activity that has ravished the city. However, they should have known. They should have expected consequences for their crimes.

No bad deed goes unpunished and you are here now for justice. You are your mother and Joffrey’s revenge.

You are their terror.

“Dracarys,” you sneer and lift your chin slightly to look down at the people with a change in your gaze, going from an exhausted and empty look to a pierced glare reflecting the roaring fire as it falls from Astraea’s mouth and rains down on the people.

There’s no hesitation, no pause, or a small taste of justice. The cries and screams don’t reach your heart because now it’s impenetrable. Like a nasty and quick plague, the fire keeps unfolding over the streets of Shae’s Manse, causing that beautiful tranquility that once traveled past the city walls to erupt into an uproar of chaos.

Some people that were lucky to escape the flames that ate away at everything and everyone in its way, found salvation in Flea Bottom. However, the same can’t be said for the people who try to escape toward Rhaeny’s Hill because you and Astraea turn your terror toward it.

If only the Dragonpit had been intact because people could be safe and untouched by the fire in there, but alas, it was the Smallfolk who caused the Dragonpit to fall when they killed those dragons. It was their own stupidity that destroyed their biggest means of salvation because Astraea doesn’t put it up in flames, you make sure to leave it untouched by any flames.

When you fly past what was once the city’s greatest wonder, you continue to spread your terror with more vigor. With more rage and pure visceral hate because if it wasn’t for them your mother would have never fled King’s Landing! She wouldn’t have fallen in Aegon’s clutches! And she would still be alive!

But no, they ran her out of her home. They killed your brother Joffrey and took the person you loved the most. Them! They did it! Every single filthy person below was the cause of your mother's death. They robbed you of your hope, joy, and light and left you in the dark void where all you have is your pain that throbs in the same way your heart beats. And with every single ba-dum, there's a reminder of what you lost and the pain it brings. And with every other beat the pain and the hate that was already so overwhelming spreads.

How much more of it can you handle? You don’t want to hurt, but you can’t forget. The pain is constant and the memory is haunting and loud! You just want it to stop!

“Please, please, please,” you beg in your mind and close your eyes, but Sunfyre ripping your mother apart flashes in your mind. You see her dying over and over again and it all grows louder.

The cries and pleas coming from below grow tenfold, adding the volume in your head. The fire's constant roar heightens too and it all starts to swirl in your head until you let out a blood-curdling scream that finally brings silence.

The fire that you rain doesn’t come to a stop, you continue to spread it as you fly down the Street of Seeds, but everything is quiet. There’s a peace in the chaos that you alone relish in until finally you hit Cobble Square and have Astraea finally stop, letting you tune into the noise once again.

However, rather than turning your dragon around and flying toward the Red Keep, you descend your dragon and land on Cobble Square to watch the beauty of the flames as they rise toward the sky, and the thick smoke pollutes the air. Furthermore in that moment as you stand there taking it all in, a swarm of people who were unscathed, and people who were caught on fire run toward you, but not to seek your attention nor is it because they’re full of wonder by your appearance. The people ran past you in terror. They don’t try to touch you or ask for a simple greeting, they shove past you because they’re terrified.

And that's all you wanted, but not all you see. You also see your mother standing in the middle of the chaos that runs at you; she glows in the chaos and outshines the bright flames, but doesn’t carry any notable emotion. She just watches you and you watch her as if telling her that this is all for her.

After a lingering minute of the world just being about her illusion and you, you decide to turn away and mount your dragon to fly to the Red Keep. This time when you land, people don’t run, nor do they look at you with fear. You find horror in the eyes of the survivors like Alicent, Lord Borros, Lord Larys, and your grandfather Lord Corlys as they stand in the courtyard after having greeted their King.

Your grandfather tries to find the answer in your eyes, but when he finds your gaze past your veil of chains he sees a glossy yet narrowed and burning gaze. That girl he was looking for is gone; he sees that when you stop by him, but that's not all because he’s the only one who looks deeper than the surface. Everyone else sees a mad woman who couldn’t be stopped because it was the King himself who allowed the terror to happen.

“Welcome home, Princess. It’s good to see you again.” Your grandfather breaks his stunned silence, making you slowly find his gaze and neither smile nor frown. Your gaze remains glossy and hardened and keeps holding that fiery behind them that tells him without a need for words that there’s nothing good about being back.

“Did they find the guilty party for the uprising?” You ask bluntly without returning his warmth despite the fire you hold. “I want to see them”

Your grandfather sighs and hesitates before he nods. “Yes, but,” he pauses. “The King wants to wait until after the wedding to pass judgment on the guilty. He is eager…” he trails off and you avert your gaze and nod stiffly before you walk without bothering to greet anyone else even though Lord Borros had restored peace to the city, and Alicent couldn’t keep her eyes off you, almost like she wanted to talk to you but also couldn’t bring herself to do it, so instead she just stands there watching you until you completely disappear inside and aren't seen again. Not like before.

Before you were spotted in the halls of the Red Keep frequently. When you were young it always varied whether you were alone or accompanied, but you truly lived up to the name they had given you, “The Golden Girl.” It was always such a delight for so many to see you. And when you got older, when you returned from the North, people often sought out a mere glimpse of your appearance as you had grown more glorious, and it’s not like you didn’t give them a reason not to seek you out, because oh, you did. You intrigued them more with the warmth that flowed from you and embraced their presence like the sun embraced everyone it saw.

Now no one sought you out, you were not a glorious presence riddled with warmth. You would be like a dark cloud bringing in a storm that everyone wants gone and wants to avoid; if you would get out of your quarters that is, but you didn’t. You stayed inside your quarters as if locked inside, making everyone believe you felt safer and more comfortable within your four walls, but that was far from the truth. You’re miserable. You can hardly sleep or stand being awake. You hardly eat and don’t do anything you used to like. You hardly see your children. You’re just there wallowing in everything that torments you.

When the day of the wedding rolls around (which was only two days after you returned) you did manage to get in a few winks of sleep and when you woke up there he was, your husband, your Aemond. He’s still asleep with his long blond-silver hair in a braid, and his calm breaths making his chest and nostrils rise and fall ever so gently.

He honestly looks like a beautiful piece of artwork that you can admire for hours, but alas, you want to be that much closer to him so you raise your hand right from under you and reach out for his cheek to stroke it.

Yet, when your hand is about to make contact with his flesh you're abruptly reminded that no one is lying beside you, and Aemond is in fact dead. You wake up alone in a cold room looking at an empty space, remembering, like a slap to the face, that today is your wedding to the man you hate.

You could jump out of your balcony and avoid the entire thing, but they’re all now depending on you, aren’t they? Everyone that died? They depend on you to try and get your mother's own blood on her rightful throne. You can feel the pressure of their haunting hands holding you up, pushing you to keep fighting another day and walk down that aisle to play your part in this war still kept alive by sparks and people fanning the flames.

Thus you let the army of women get you ready. You drape on your heavy ivory wedding gown dipped in crimson red, and hide your grieving and hardened face behind a crystal-littered veil before you finally drag your feet out of your quarters.

This time around your wedding isn’t private nor is it done under Valyrian traditions like when Aemond and you married on that hill with no one but your dragons, Helaena, his mother, and Aegon. The sun isn’t out, and the sea isn’t accompanying you either, snow graces Kings Landing as it gently falls from the sky, and hundreds pairs of eyes are forced to be your witness to show the people that at long last the Targaryen family had mended their differences and rejoined their forces as one.

War will surely end now, and peace will finally return to the realm!

That’s all they want, that’s all they care about. They don’t care about Aegon marrying you, they stopped caring about you the moment you turned your dragon against them, so they don’t care if you look miserable. Not even the highborn Lords that stand nearby care that you never lift your head off the ground throughout the ceremony done under the eyes of the Seven. They just care about finally reeling you in and locking you away to bring an end to the war (they started).

The only people who care are Cregan who is too far to do anything to stop the wedding, and you, but they can’t hear you screaming and crying because you suffer quietly and act like the cooperating princess. That’s what you let Aegon see when he drapes his cloak on your back to signify that you’re at last his, cooperation and emptiness, and that’s what you continue to show him when he lifts the veil off your face. However, he ignores that as he's eager to finally know the taste of your lips.

“You truly are radiant today,” he says with a faint smirk, making you offer him a soft scoff as a response before you stand to your given height after having to crouch to his level, causing the veil to slip over on your face as you turn away from him to let the ceremony continue to the second portion; your coronation.

However, as much as you dreamt and as excited as you once were to hear those glorious words directed at you. Now you simply tune them out and don’t even think about smiling or mustering any ounce of pride when the time comes for the crown to be placed upon your veiled-covered head.

Albeit you also don’t look like there’s no soul inside your body. When you turn to face the crowd of people, your eyebrows are slightly furrowed, the corner of your lips droop with your faint scowl, and the crystal fragments on your veil cascade down so perfectly that it looks like there’s tears rolling down your cheeks, leading the audience to see you as some ethereal beauty; like those tapestries and statues of beautiful weeping gods. However, it’s all a trick of the bright white light reflecting through the windows of the Great Sept, because the mist in your eyes reflects the flames of ferocity still very much alive inside.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

It’s a good thing Aegon can’t get his cock up anymore or else the night would be unpleasant and traumatizing. And it was almost traumatizing, but when it came to the bedding ceremony he couldn’t make it work, no matter the hunger in his eyes, so he began to drink and sent you off after he told you to swear that you wouldn’t tell a soul what happened.

But who could you tell? Baela? She doesn’t talk to you even though she’s not living in a cell anymore.

Vanessa? Sure, but the conversation will get a couple of laughs before it’s over and done with.

Rhaena? She’s still in the Eyrie and by the time she responds your amusement would have died down, so no there’s no one you could have actually told, he’s made sure of that…

Nevertheless, it’s a good thing the bedding ceremony didn’t last—or start to begin with because now you can put all your focus on the significant matter at hand.

“Ser Cane!” You greet excitedly as you watch him taking his hood off as he’s climbing up the steps of the Red Keep.

“Your Grace,” he responds with a hint of warmth in his otherwise nonchalant voice. “Look at you,” he muses and when he finally reaches you on top of the staircase he bows before he puts his arms out. “I hope it was a safe delivery.”

You avert your gaze and respond quietly. “It was a rather stressful one but the three of us are alive so it was safe.”

Your sworn protector sighs and drops one arm back to his side while he lets the other one hover over your shoulder for a second before he lets it fall gently. “My deepest condolences about your loss, my Queen.”

You blink repeatedly and feel your eyes sting at the weight of his words because you can hear that he actually means what he says, but you refuse to cry so you just take a deep breath and look up at him with a thankful smile. “Thank you Ser…was your trip here pleasant?”

Ser Cane drops his hand and shrugs. “As good as it gets.”

You scoff softly in response before you point your head inside. “Let’s get inside. It’s cold out here.”

Without any protest or attempt to add anything right there on the staircase where you have prying eyes, Ser Cane follows you inside to a secluded corner barely touched by nearby candlelight.

“How was the wedding?” Ser Cane asks with a hint of amusement.

“Pft,” you blow out and turn around on your heels with a smirk. “I got to wear beautiful gowns, and I now own beautiful crowns so I’ll say it was pleasant.”

Ser Cane scoffs and when you’re facing each other under the faint candlelight you begin to fiddle with your rings and probe. “Is Cregan okay? Safe?”

“He was worried,” Ser Cane admits as he watches your downcasted gaze. “He almost went mad with worry, but when we heard word of your wellbeing he calmed down. I’m sure he would be here in a heartbeat given the chance, but he’s keeping his head up and doing his job. He’s waiting on his army, they should reach him soon.”

Your lips fall as you nod gently in comprehension and take it all in without letting the news ache your heart too much. You feel it get tugged at as you imagine what Cregan might be feeling and thinking after you had finally gotten your chance to start your long-awaited story together, but he can’t take up all your thoughts nor can you let him torment you too harshly because there’s still a sliver of hope. If he gives you one more chance then there will be no more obstacles after this.

“How did he take the news about me being engaged to Aegon?” You have to ask as that specific thought has been killing you since he couldn’t respond back with a letter of his thoughts on the matter.

“I don’t know,” Ser Cane admits with a sigh. “I’m sorry, your Grace. He read the letter in his private quarters and when he came out, well…you know how he is. Cool as ice.”

The corner of your lips twitch up and you nod in agreement before you ask one more thing. “You didn’t tell him why you left, did you?”

Ser Cane scoffs. “Of course not. Who do you take me for?”

You smile and tilt your head to the side. “I am not doubting you Ser, I just know that if he had asked, you wouldn’t have denied him an answer. You’re respectful that way.”

Ser Cane pulls something out of his satchel that’s hidden behind his cloak and then shakes his head. “Not with your personal matters, My Queen,” he says with a small proud smile that stays on his face as he hands you a small flask wrapped with parchment paper.

Before you pull the paper off the flask though, you offer him a flustered smile and then proceed to take the paper off to read the words it holds.

“You are going down the right path.

I will see you soon enough. Until then.

-Alys”

You smile softly and with admiration, before you hand the letter to Ser Cane so he can put it away while you lift your hand to look at the slow-acting poison you asked Alys to concoct for you.

“Great. Now I hope you’re able to stand on your feet for a while longer, Ser because we have work to do,” you let him know with a smug hint in your tone of voice as you hand him the flask so he can keep it hidden for you in his satchel for now.

“Of course, I can,” he assures you, making you flash him a smirk before you depart from your dimly lit corner and return to your quarters, but not to stay there. You take the hidden passage hidden within the walls of your quarters and guide Ser Cane down corridors festered with rats and only lit by the torch that you both hold in your hands.

There are many times when your sworn protector wants to question where you’re leading him, but he trusts you so follows you blindly until finally, you hit a stone wall that holds a doorknob.

“Here,” you point your chin to the doorknob on the wall.

“Are you sure?” Ser Cane asks for your safety.

You hum in agreement and take his torch before you step aside to let him open the door.

Once the light from inside the room casts outside you hang the torches on the wall, and let Ser Cane take the lead to the mysterious room.

“Who goes there?” A voice from inside carries out, but doesn’t get answered as Ser Cane stomps in, nor when you strut behind him and get surrounded by the brighter room. You let the sight of your presence answer the question your grandfather, Baela, and Lord Larys ask themselves.

“Granddaughter,” your grandfather gasps as he watches you quietly stride toward the chair at the end of the table.

“Queen,” Ser Cane corrects him as he closes the secret door. “She’s your Queen.”

“Your Grace,” your grandfather corrects himself whilst Lord Larys immediately greets you with the right title and Baela stays quiet.

Albeit you ignore the greetings so it doesn’t matter. You just take a seat on the chair that steals all of the attention of the room, and sit up straight with your nose in the air and a smirk dancing on your lips.

“Sit my Lords and Lady, we have a coup to plan.”

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Ser Cane the father that stepped up

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[marigold-hills]

The Dark Wizard

preview! Wolfstar Howls Moving Castle AU a tiny little bit of the next work I’ll be working on. Posting will begin in December :) massive thanks to the groupchat for checking this over before I posted, you are the absolute best ❤️

✨✨✨

When Remus leaves his hometown, it’s not to seek his fortune, or adventure, or – gods forbid – love. He leaves because he’s a monster, and monsters do not belong in society. They belong in the Waste.

This is how it happens.

It’s May Day. The village of Hogsmead is abuzz with excitement. Revellers and drunks, lovely dressed up ladies and dapper gentlemen circling one another, for propriety's sake staying respectable distances away. The gentlemen whistling at the ladies, the ladies pretending to be aghast by the behaviour, covertly blushing and giggling.

It’s a perfect day. Sunny, warm, bright.

For Remus, it’s perfect for a different reason.

Everyone is too busy to notice their pockets getting lighter. Too buzzed to pay attention to the man dressed in ill-fitting clothes walking too close to others. A casual jostle is just this - casual. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to raise concern.

Remus has a few pilfered wallets in a hidden pocket he sewed into a stolen vest. It’s easy, this. He’s done it for years.

“My apologies,” he smiles at a man in a soldier’s garb, whose money pouch he just appropriated. This one feels good for more than one reason - the soldier was in the process of accosting a lady who did not seem pleased to be accosted. She takes the moment he gets distracted by Remus and ducks away. Remus would like to say that he makes sure to only steal from those who deserve it, but it wouldn’t be true.

Food is food, and money is money, and both are something he needs to live. Remus can’t get a job, on account of being a monster, on account of how many days he has to take out to recuperate and travel somewhere far enough to make sure he wouldn’t let himself loose on his quaint hometown of Hogsmeade. Since his parents’ passing, this is what he’s been reduced to. 

He’s tall but can make himself look unassuming, with hair once golden-auburn and now grey from the effect of too many full moons. It’s perfect for this job, being easy to look over and hard to describe. He’s young but looks old. Feels old, too, but that’s not something for people to see.

Remus makes mistakes in this work so rarely that he doesn’t notice he’s made one until it’s too late.

He’s following a well-dressed man, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The man is exceptionally pretty, with short black curls barely skimming the tops of his ears and a gait like royalty. Remus follows behind him at a stretch, slow and careful, until they round the back of a seedy, dark pub and the man turns around like he is the one who set the trap.

Green eyes like poison.

“Trailing the Wizard of the Waste, that’s brave of you,” the man says with a voice that freezes Remus midstep.

Because he knows better than that. He knows not to go for the people who are dressed overly expensive, with rich black fabrics and shining peacock plumes in their hats. He knows chances are somebody is watching over the really rich. That the possibility of a greater payoff doesn’t compare to the risk of being caught.

And yet here he is: caught.

“Or maybe simply foolish,” the Wizard says. “You don’t look a fool, but such things can be so deceiving, don’t you agree?”

The way his eyes pierce through Remus: all he can think is he knows. Somebody knows. Remus has been found out. 

He turns and runs, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away. Remus remembers what the townspeople did the last time someone was found out. Remembers the stench of burning flesh.

He doesn’t look back once while he flees, not even when the Wizard shouts “my regards to Sirius!”, to his retreating back. 

✨✨✨

tagging you lovely people who had previously been interested in future works - let me know if you want to be in the list for this one as well :)

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[moonythejedi394]

oh you liked how in my fic for him. bucky didn't fall from the train well what if he did?

His phone buzzes. Steve picks it up and sees a text from Hill, then another one comes in. They’re both phone numbers. The first one is Becca’s and the second is Benny’s. Benny’s name is still Barnes, but Hill’s text has Becca’s last name as Proctor. Steve exhales, then he calls Becca.

It rings for a long time. Steve bites his lip.

“Hello?”

Becca’s voice is rough and cracking with age, but it’s her. Steve exhales heavily.

“It’s Steve,” he says quietly. “Hi.”

There’s silence for a moment.

“What flowers were at your wedding?” Becca asks. 

Steve smiles, bittersweet, but it’s just like Becca to be suspicious. “Red carnations and daisies. Bucky had a daisy in his lapel,” he adds. “Your ma did all youse’s hair with daisies, too. And you and Betty had matching dresses, little cap sleeves and empire waists and a bow in the back, and your ma bought both of you a pair of kitten heels, even though you were only eight, they were yellow with bows, too. Benny had a dress with a big poofy skirt and she kept grousing about it, even though she tried to get me to wear a wedding gown with a poofy skirt. I let Benny pick the color of your dresses, though. She picked pale yellow because she was obsessed with lemons back then. The wedding cake was lemon because of her, lemon and lavender.”

“Steve…” Becca exhales. “Is it really you?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, trying to hold back sudden tears. “Becca, Bucky – Before he – Before –”

“What?” Becca asks gently. “What did Bucky do?”

“‘M pregnant,” Steve confesses.

“Oh, my G-d,” Becca whispers. “Oh, my G-d. You’re pregnant?”

“Three months,” Steve then tells her, his voice almost breaking. “I’m about three months in.”

“Did Bucky know?”

Steve lets out a watery sort of laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. He – He said I could go on one last mission, the mission to get Zola, then he was gonna tell Colonel Phillips and get me discharged. We didn’t know for sure, but…”

“Oh, Steve,” Becca murmurs. “Where are you, honey?”

“Brooklyn,” Steve whispers. “Bedford-Stuyvesant,” he adds.

“Okay, honey, I’m gonna come pick you up, alright? I got a spare bedroom, you can have it. Bucky wouldn’t want you to be alone. What’s your address?”

Steve bites his lip hard, fighting back tears. But she’s right.

“Alright,” he mumbles, then recites the address for Barton’s apartment building. “I don’t have a lot of things right now,” he says. “I – I, uh, I’m trying to get the Smithsonian to give back all our stuff…”

“I heard your collar got taken out of the exhibit,” Becca says. “You have it?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers. “I had to get a new key fitted for the lock. Buck–”

He can’t say it. Bucky had had the key on the chain that held Steve’s dog tags. It had fallen with him, to be forever entombed in stone and ice.

“It’s okay, honey,” Becca tells him. “I won’t be long, just an hour. Have you got a nest set up yet?”

“No,” Steve admits softly. “I – I want –” His voice cracks and he swallows. “I want my nesting stuff. It’s all in the Smithsonian. They’re saying it all belonged to some Omega I collared.”

“I’ll sic my grandkids on ‘em,” Becca says. “What have you eaten today?”

Steve groans and drops his head back against the wall. “Protein bars,” he mutters.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Bucky’s gonna come back from the grave and take a double-folded belt to your ass if you don’t start taking better care of his property,” Becca offers kindly.

Steve laughs a little again, then wipes tears from his eyes. “You’re right.”

“What have you got other than protein bars?” Becca asks.

“Protein shakes,” Steve sighs.

“Oh, boy, Bucky’s rolling in his grave.”

Steve almost laughs. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shaking breath.

“If you need to cry, you should,” Becca says. “It’s good for you.”

“Call me when you get here,” Steve murmurs. “I have to pack.”

“Alright. Just an hour, big brother.”

[niallerspayno]

Heat of the Moment (Louis Tomlinson x reader) - Fic Request

Anonymous request: I’d really love if you wrote about Louis and you getting into an argument

and

Anonymous request: Could you make a version of the bus with Louis? I have the impression that he is very rough type.

Tags: Smut!

The night ends in the same controlled chaos it began with. A throng of fans had waited hours outside the venue, and you’d pushed through with the boys, Paul leading the charge. The excitement, the noise, the adrenaline—it’s all part of the job. Now, the six of you are crammed into the tour bus, the hum of the engine a welcome contrast to the earlier chaos.

You’re leaning against the counter in the tiny kitchenette, a bottle of water in hand, laughing at something Niall’s just said. He’s mid-story, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and you can’t help but giggle when his Irish accent thickens as he imitates Paul’s gruff voice.

“That was spot on,” you say, nudging him with your elbow.

Louis steps into the space just then, his presence filling the small area like a storm rolling in. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you and Niall from the corner of his eye as he grabs a Coke from the fridge.

“Good one, mate,” Louis finally says, his voice sharp, cutting into the lightness of the moment. You glance over at him, confused by the edge in his tone, but Niall doesn’t seem to notice. He just grins, pats your shoulder, and heads toward the back lounge.

The moment you’re alone with Louis, the temperature in the room shifts. He leans against the counter across from you, his gaze locked on yours, the Coke unopened in his hand.

“Having fun, were you?” he asks, too casually.

You blink, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Nothing. Just seemed like you and Niall were having a grand old time.”

You laugh, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

Louis shrugs, but his jaw tightens, betraying the casual front he’s putting on. “Just saying. Don’t reckon you two need to be so friendly when, you know... certain things are meant to stay private.”

The words hit you like a slap, and your stomach twists. “Unbelievable,” you mutter, pushing off the counter. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

But you don’t get far before his voice follows you, sharp and accusing. “Of course you’re not. Why bother, right? It’s not like it matters to you anyway.”

You whirl around, the anger bubbling to the surface as your voice rises. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. The guy who decided we have to sneak around because ‘it’s easier this way.’”

The argument is brewing now, the tension thick in the small space.

“You think I want to sneak around?” Louis snaps, his voice rising to match yours. He steps closer, closing the distance between you, the Coke bottle still clutched in his hand. “This isn’t exactly my dream setup either, love.”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” you fire back, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the one who said, ‘Let’s keep it quiet, yeah? Just between us.’ Like it was so bloody inconvenient for anyone to know!”

“And it’s worked, hasn’t it?” he retorts, his blue eyes blazing. “But not if you keep carrying on like that with Niall.”

“Carrying on?” you repeat, your voice dripping with disbelief. “He was telling a story, Louis. I laughed. You don’t get to turn that into some conspiracy against you.”

Louis lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Just a laugh. Nothing more to it, yeah? You’re always so good at pretending none of this matters.”

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you expected. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm, “that I’m the one who’s got to watch everything I say, everything I do, just so we don’t slip up. Meanwhile, you’re out there acting like you don’t care.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, anger boiling over. “You think I don’t care? Are you serious right now? I’ve done everything you asked, Louis. I’ve played along with all of this—hiding, sneaking, pretending like it’s nothing when it’s not!”

“Then maybe this was a mistake,” he shoots back, the words slicing through the air.

It’s like the floor drops out from under you. For a moment, you just stare at him, his chest heaving, his face hard but tinged with something you can’t quite place—regret, maybe, or fear.

“Fine,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best effort to hold steady. “Maybe it was.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Neither of you moves, the weight of the argument hanging between you like a storm cloud ready to burst.

“Great,” Louis finally mutters, stepping back. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard as you turn on your heel and storm toward your bunk, every step heavy with frustration, hurt, and something else—something raw and unresolved.

...

The bus is eerily quiet now, save for the low rumble of the engine and the occasional creak of the chassis. The others are all asleep in their bunks, the faint sounds of steady breathing drifting through the narrow hallway. But you’re wide awake, your mind replaying the argument with Louis on an endless loop.

You can’t take it anymore.

Sliding out of your own bunk as quietly as you can, you make your way toward the back of the bus where Louis’s curtain is drawn shut. For a moment, you hesitate, your hand hovering just inches from the fabric. You tell yourself this is a bad idea, that you should just let it go and sleep it off. But you don’t.

You pull the curtain back just enough to slip inside, the dim light from the corridor illuminating Louis’s sleeping face. He’s on his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, his features softened by sleep.

“Lou,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the bus.

He stirs, his brow furrowing before his eyes blink open. For a split second, he looks confused, but then he sees you, and his expression hardens.

“What are you doing here?” he mutters, his voice low and groggy.

You kneel in the cramped space, your heart pounding. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Not my problem,” he replies, turning his back to you.

The coldness in his tone stings, but you don’t back down. “I’m not leaving,” you say firmly, your hand resting on his shoulder. He tenses under your touch but doesn’t move away. “We can’t leave things like this, Louis. I hate it.”

He sighs, rolling onto his back to look at you, his blue eyes shadowed in the low light. “Why do you care?” he asks, his voice quieter now, laced with frustration. “You made it pretty clear earlier that it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you whisper, the knot in your chest tightening. “You know it’s not.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe you. Then, finally, he reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “You drive me mad, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“You’re not exactly easy to handle yourself,” you reply, your breath hitching as his hand slides into your hair, pulling you closer.

The tension that had been simmering between you all night explodes in an instant. His lips crash against yours, the kiss desperate and hungry, as if it’s the only way to burn away the anger and frustration still lingering between you.

Louis doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. As soon as your bodies press together, he flips you beneath him with a roughness that sends a thrill straight through you. The bunk is cramped, the walls pressing in around you, but none of that matters when he’s this close, his weight pinning you down, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

“You drive me insane,” he growls against your lips, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “Sneaking around with Niall, laughing like I’m not right here—like I don’t see everything.”

“I wasn’t—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with another searing kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you do to me.”

You swallow hard, your pulse pounding as his words sink in. There’s no mistaking the fire in his eyes, the raw intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“I wasn’t trying to make you jealous,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts defiance and desire.

“Well, you did,” he mutters, his hand sliding beneath your shirt, the rough calluses on his fingers sending shivers across your skin. “And now I’m going to remind you who you belong to.”

The possessiveness in his tone should probably annoy you, but instead, it sends a surge of heat straight through you. He doesn’t wait for your reply, his lips trailing down your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as you arch beneath him.

“Louis,” you gasp, your hands fisting in his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he’s in control now, and he knows it.

“You’ve got no idea how much you wind me up,” he mutters, his voice muffled as he works his way lower, tugging your shirt up and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach. “But you’re mine. Got it?”

“Yours,” you breathe, the word tumbling out before you can think to stop it.

“Damn right you are,” he growls, coming back up to capture your lips in another bruising kiss. His hands are everywhere—gripping, exploring, claiming—and it’s all you can do to keep up, your body responding to him with a desperation that matches his own.

Louis’s hand presses over your mouth as you arch beneath him, your muffled moan swallowed by his palm. “Shh,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear. “You don’t want to wake them, do you?”

The warning is sharp, but his voice holds an edge of amusement, like he’s relishing the power he has over you. Your heart pounds against your ribs, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. The cramped bunk feels smaller than ever, his weight pressing you down, his hands rough as they roam your body.

You nod beneath his hand, your breath hot and quick against his palm. His blue eyes burn into yours, a mixture of challenge and heat. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his tone dark and possessive, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

His fingers trail down your side, dragging over your bare skin with enough pressure to leave you squirming. The cool air of the bus bites against the heat of your flushed skin, every touch from him a maddening contrast between soft and rough, tender and demanding.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his free hand slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. “You’re so desperate, aren’t you?”

You try to shake your head, but he doesn’t let you. His thumb presses against your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Don’t lie,” he growls, his fingers teasing you with agonizing slowness. “I can feel it. You’ve been like this all night, haven’t you? Thinking about me. Wanting this.”

A muffled whimper escapes from behind his hand, your body betraying you as you press against him. The knowing smirk on his face only makes it worse, his cocky confidence fueling the fire building inside you.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, his voice barely audible, more vibration than sound as his lips brush against your throat. His teeth scrape along your pulse, sharp and deliberate, drawing a gasp from you that he quickly silences with a stern look.

“Quiet,” he warns again, his hand tightening on your hip. “Unless you want the others to know what we’re doing in here.”

The thought sends a flush of heat across your cheeks, but the thrill of the risk only heightens everything. Your senses are overwhelmed—the smell of him, the faint spice of his cologne mixed with the salt of sweat; the sound of his breathing, rough and uneven in your ear; the way his hands and mouth move like they’re staking a claim.

When his fingers finally dip lower, finding you soaked and ready, he groans softly against your neck. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough with restraint. “So ready for me.”

You bite down on his palm to keep from crying out, the pressure of his touch sending sparks through your veins. He works you expertly, his movements precise and unrelenting, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hips buck against him, your body chasing the release that feels just out of reach. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “Not yet. I want you to hold on for me, love. Think you can do that?”

You shake your head frantically, your breaths ragged behind his hand. He chuckles softly, the sound low and dark. “Too bad,” he says, his fingers moving faster now, pushing you closer to the breaking point. “But you keep quiet, yeah? Can’t have the others finding out how loud you get for me.”

The knot in your stomach tightens, your body trembling beneath him as you teeter on the edge. He’s relentless, his touch driving you to the point of no return, and when you finally crash, it’s like every nerve in your body ignites at once.

Your muffled cry is swallowed by his hand as you shudder beneath him, his body pressing you down, holding you together as you fall apart. The intensity leaves you breathless, your skin slick with sweat, your limbs heavy and shaking.

Louis doesn’t let go immediately, his fingers easing you through the aftershocks as his lips press soft, lingering kisses along your jaw. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice soothing now, though the possessiveness hasn’t faded. “You’re mine, yeah? Say it.”

You nod weakly, your voice barely above a whisper as you finally manage to speak. “Yours.”

You’re still trembling from the aftershocks of the first wave, but Louis isn’t finished with you yet. His lips trail down your neck, soft at first, but then they grow more urgent, more demanding as his hands move back to your body, caressing and pulling you closer.

“Did I say you could rest?” he growls in your ear, his voice rough, still thick with desire.

You shiver, the remnants of your orgasm still buzzing through you, but you’re already so hot, so aching for him. Your body responds before your mind can catch up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer as he hovers over you.

Louis chuckles low in his throat, a sound that’s almost predatory, and his eyes lock onto yours, his expression dark and full of purpose. “I love how eager you are. But you’re not in control here.”

Without warning, he flips you over, your chest pressing against the cool, soft sheets of the bunk. His hand is at the small of your back, pushing you down as he hovers above you, his breath hot against your skin. You’re so exposed in this position, so vulnerable, and the way he’s taking charge makes your pulse race.

“Don’t even think about making a sound,” he murmurs, his voice barely a breath in your ear. “You’re going to be quiet, right?”

You nod quickly, the air thick with tension. His hand slides down your spine, the heat of his touch sending a shiver through you. “Good,” he says, his lips trailing a line down the back of your neck.

Then, without any more warning, he’s back between your legs, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down, leaving you completely exposed to him. You gasp, your breath catching in your throat, but you bite your lip, trying to stay silent as he continues.

He spreads your legs apart, the movement possessive, and you feel the cool air of the bus against your damp skin. Louis watches you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip, his eyes never leaving yours as he positions himself.

“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice almost a growl, and you feel the weight of his words, the authority behind them.

And then he’s inside you, all heat and friction as he drives into you hard, filling you completely. You suck in a breath, your hands gripping the edge of the bunk as your body tries to adjust to the sudden force.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust, not that you’d want him to. Louis is relentless, his rhythm pounding, pushing you forward into a frenzy, and you can’t help but let out a breathy gasp.

He immediately places his hand over your mouth again, silencing you before you can make a sound. “I said quiet,” he warns, his tone a low rasp. His hips snap against yours with force, the pressure making your whole body shake as he takes control of every movement, every part of you.

The world outside the bus disappears. There’s nothing but the sounds of your bodies colliding, the rhythm of his thrusts filling the small space, the harsh, desperate need building between you. You can’t think, can’t do anything except feel, feel the heat of his body against yours, feel the way he’s forcing you to come apart with every stroke.

Your body burns with every passing second, every inch of you drawn tight, coiled and straining as he brings you closer. The only sound you’re allowed to make is muffled behind his hand, but that only makes everything feel more intense, more urgent. You can feel yourself unraveling again, the pleasure building faster this time.

Louis can tell. He slows his pace just enough to draw it out, to make you ache, make you beg without words, until you’re almost pleading for release. And when he finally picks up the pace again, it’s overwhelming.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite down on his hand to keep from crying out. Every inch of you is on fire, your nerves a tangled mess of pleasure and desperation. You can’t hold back anymore.

“Please,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled but desperate. “I—Louis, I—”

“Shh,” he breathes, pressing his palm harder against your mouth as he slams into you, his pace unforgiving, relentless. “I know, love. I know.”

And then it’s too much. Your body shudders beneath him, the tension inside you snapping like a tight wire, and you come hard, your whole body shaking in release. The only thing that grounds you is the firm press of his hand, keeping you quiet as your mind spins in a haze of pleasure.

Louis doesn’t stop, not even when you’re trembling beneath him, your body still pulsing with the aftermath. He continues to move, his pace unyielding, pulling you closer to the edge again as he chases his own release.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hand finally leaving your mouth as he holds your body close, pressing you against him, the sweat slicking both of you. “You’re perfect.”

His thrusts get more erratic, and with one final push, he reaches his peak, his body tensing as he groans your name, the sound rough and guttural, like a man finally getting what he’s been craving.

You collapse beneath him, your body spent, both of you breathing heavily in the quiet of the bus, the only sound the distant hum of the engine.

Louis takes a moment to catch his breath before collapsing beside you, his arm pulling you close, his fingers running through your hair.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he mutters, his voice a low rasp, full of that same intensity. “But for now... let’s just get some rest.”

You nod, your body still humming with the intensity of the moment, and let yourself relax against him, the weight of everything—your bodies, your emotions, the tension that had been building all night—finally starting to settle.

...

The next morning soft hum of the tour bus engine is a steady background noise as you try to fall back asleep, your body comfortably nestled against Louis’s. The warmth of his arm around you is grounding, though the weight of your secret makes everything feel a little heavier than it should. You’ve been sneaking around for weeks now, and it’s only a matter of time before someone catches on.

You’re caught somewhere between waking and sleeping when you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps—heavy and purposeful—outside your bunk.

Liam.

Your heart leaps in your chest.

Louis, still blissfully unaware, remains completely still, his arm tight around your waist. He doesn’t even stir. You freeze, holding your breath, but the panic starts to rise when the sound of footsteps gets louder, closer, until the soft knock you’ve been dreading comes.

“Oi, are you two up yet?” Liam’s voice, playful but tinged with annoyance, comes from the other side of the curtain.

Shit.

Louis shifts slightly, but his hold doesn’t loosen. “Just stay still. Don’t make a sound,” he murmurs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

You barely breathe, willing yourself to remain calm, but your pulse is racing. And then… the curtain is yanked back.

The world outside is suddenly exposed, and the weight of reality crashes into you in that one terrifying moment.

Liam stands there, blinking in confusion, his eyes flicking from you to Louis. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something but nothing comes out at first. Behind him, the rest of the band—all four of them—are gathered. Zayn, arms crossed and looking thoroughly unimpressed, is standing beside Harry, who’s wearing an amused grin, clearly enjoying the sight. But it’s Niall who catches your eye last. He’s leaning against the side of the bus, a smirk tugging at his lips, as if he already knows exactly what’s been going on.

Liam is the first to break the silence, his voice incredulous. “What the actual fuck?” His eyebrows are furrowed, and you can see his mind working overtime, trying to process the sight in front of him. “You two… really?”

Louis, ever the cool-headed one, just raises a single brow, his body still pressed against yours like this is just another normal morning. “Morning, mate,” he says smoothly, stretching lazily, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

You, on the other hand, are frozen in place. You can’t hide your embarrassment, the heat creeping up your neck as you stare at the four of them, each one taking in the scene in their own way.

Harry chuckles first, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Well, well, well,” he says, leaning back slightly as though this is all one big joke to him. “Didn’t think we’d be waking up to this. You two been keeping this little secret to yourselves, huh?”

Zayn crosses his arms, the look on his face more unreadable than anything else. He glances at Louis, then at you, and simply shakes his head, barely hiding a smirk. “Never thought you were the type, mate,” he says to Louis, his tone a mix of sarcasm and amusement.

But it’s Niall who surprises you the most. He doesn’t look shocked at all. In fact, he just leans against the wall with a shit-eating grin, as if he’s been waiting for this moment. “Guess we all know who’s been sharing a bunk,” Niall says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Should’ve known.”

You want to die. The entire band is standing there, staring, and you can’t even hide your face.

Liam, still in disbelief, takes a step back, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t even know what to say,” he mutters, half to himself. “What the hell is going on in here, Louis?”

Louis’s smirk doesn’t falter. “Nothing you need to worry about, mate. We’re just getting some rest, that’s all,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal. He adjusts himself, pulling you closer for effect, clearly loving the chaos.

“You two are unbelievable,” Liam mutters under his breath, though it’s not exactly in anger. It’s more like he’s resigned himself to the absurdity of it all.

Harry leans forward, clearly enjoying the moment. “Come on, mate,” he says to Liam, a teasing edge to his voice. “You know Louis. He’s always the one to keep us on our toes.”

Zayn just shrugs. “Not surprised, honestly,” he says, his tone a bit dry. “We’ve all been on this bus for months now. Could’ve seen this coming.”

Liam, still trying to process, looks at you with a raised brow. “How long has this been going on?”

Louis, completely unfazed, shrugs. “Long enough,” he says with that familiar devil-may-care attitude. “You lot need to lighten up. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Niall chuckles, crossing his arms and looking at you both. “Yeah, mate, don’t act like we didn’t all know. Just surprised you kept it under wraps for so long.”

Liam just gapes, his face going a little red as if trying to figure out what to do with himself. “This is insane. Are you kidding me?” He pauses, looking at the three of them and then back to you and Louis. “Can you, like, not keep it down a bit? We’re all trying to sleep, yeah?”

Louis grins widely. “Sure thing, mate,” he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm, not an ounce of shame in his demeanor.

Liam throws his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t even know why I bother with you,” he says, shaking his head as he pulls the curtain back over the bunk. “Just… keep it quiet next time. I don’t need this on my conscience.”

As the curtain slides back into place, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The bus seems quieter now, but the tension is still thick in the air. Louis, of course, is the first to break the silence. He pulls you back against him, his voice low and playful.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he says, flashing you a grin. “We survived the interrogation. And now, we can get back to our business, yeah?”

You want to strangle him for being so carefree about the whole thing, but at the same time, part of you can’t help but laugh at how little he cares. This is Louis Tomlinson, after all.

[unhingedangstaddict]

WIP Wednesday

Got tagged by the amazing @quintessenceofdust88 and @typicalopposite no Here's some of the next chapter of All Of You, All Of Me (Intertwined) my bucktommy mpreg fic (I was hoping this chapter would be ready to post tonight but idk if it'll be ready tbh) MINOR NSFW WARNING (for suggestive content)

Evan’s response to Tommy’s picture of his new bump came a little later.

Evan : You popped!!

Tommy : I know I’m still small compared to other 23 week bumps but it feels huge

Evan : (If I’m way out of line just tell me to cut it out but) I think it’ll just take a little time to get used to the difference and then you won’t feel so big

Evan : And you still look pretty damn good to me 😍

Tommy : I hope you’re right….

Tommy : Wait don’t say that

Evan : Why not? It’s true. Sexiest man alive if you ask me 😏

Tommy : Evan my sex drive is coming back after being absent for months. While I appreciate hearing that it’s not exactly helping me to not get turned on over every little thing

Tommy : It’s like going thru puberty all over again…

Evan started typing, then stopped, and started again, and stopped again. Finally after a few minutes of bubbling a message came through.

Evan : I won’t say stuff like that again if you don’t want me to. I’m sorry if it upset you.

Evan : But also if you wanted some help with that, if you want, I wouldn’t be opposed to reintroducing that kind of intimacy to our relationship

Tommy : I’ll get back to you on that. I need to go take care of things before Eddie shows up…

Evan : Have fun!

Evan : Not like that. Well, also like that I guess. But I meant have fun with Eddie!

Tommy chuckled to himself and went to take care of business.

No pressure tags cause I know it's super late for @desert--moonchild and @ladyeyrewrites

[nogoodnameideasrn]

I have a phobia of animals. Especially dogs. I feel unsafe around them. My family refuses to admit I experience this. Because it absolves them of any guilt from getting a dog, a dog they consistently tell me I just need to accept and learn to love. A dog that, every time I see it, reminds me that my family doesn’t care about my feelings when it interferes with what they want. I am currently counting down until I am of legal age and can move out. Then I never have to be around dogs again. Then I can make them understand what they put me through for four years. Even longer if you count being dragged to relative’s houses who have dogs, telling me that I’m being silly. Not even trying to understand what’s going through my mind when I have to share a house with these creatures.

I enjoy my fantasies. They give me power. They make me feel like I’m more powerful than the creatures scaring me. Like I could hurt them if I really wanted to. I have no intention of actually doing so. One, because it’s illegal under animal cruelty laws. I have big plans for the future, plans that getting arrested for stabbing a dog would really throw a wrench into. In my state, you can go to jail for seven years for second-degree animal cruelty, and ten years for first-degree animal cruelty. That’s 7-10 years of my life I’ll never get back. So rest assured I have no plans to ever act on my fantasies in the future.

And as for your claims that I could be an “apologist for that behavior now”, I want to ask you something. Would you call someone who ate steak and drank milk an apologist for abusive behavior now? Because they are funding and wordlessly supporting so much more danger to animals than some rando trying to seek support and community on tumblr dot com. I ask this because I am a vegan. I have to watch the family that looked at me like I was disturbed when I confided my fantasies to them (fantasies I never plan to act on btw!!) consume food daily that was created through more suffering than I would ever enact. When I tried to get help by posting on Reddit, my post was deleted and I was given a warning for promoting violence. But a picture of a cooked chicken breast on one of the food subreddits would never be taken down. I will tell you this. If you criticize me for “abuse apologism” and are not a vegan, are not someone who fights for animal rights, I will openly call you a hypocrite.

I will agree with you that the #transharmful tags on here are full of a lot of people fishing for an online BDSM relationship. I am not interested in those kinks, nor in a relationship dynamic online, even with someone who would be close in age (trust issues go brrrr). So I cannot offer any commentary on that. I don’t know anything about it, and a conversation with those who do might be more helpful. Only that I will not sell out my fellow transharmfuls in an attempt to prove that I’m “better” than them.

I hope this was helpful. Maybe.

I was doomscrolling the #anti transharmful tag, and they really don’t seem to have any empathy for transharmfuls whose identities aren’t linked to intrusive thoughts, who they can paint as the “victim” of the “evil radqueers”

Me: I fantasize about stabbing dogs.

Anti: Oh honey, those are just intrusive thoughts. Unwanted thoughts that your brain decides to give you. They’re distressing and go against your morals. You’re better than these thoughts, and you shouldn’t build an identity around them.

Me: No.

Anti: What do you mean no?

Me: I mean that they aren’t intrusive thoughts. I’ve struggled with intrusive thoughts for a long time now. I know what they feel like. And these aren’t it. They aren’t unwanted. The only distress they give me is knowing how others would react to them. Some part of me actually does want to do this. And I’m not ashamed of that. But that shouldn’t mean I’m irredeemable.

Anti: ACTUALLY IT DOES KYS KYS EITHER THAT OR ADMIT THAT THESE THOUGHTS ARE EVIL AND MAKE A PART OF YOU EVIL.

[ambitious-tea]

I just finished Scooby doo mystery incorporated and I am a bit of a disaster now it’s fINE but - They stayed together and are gonna go on a road trip and solve mysteries and go to college together and I’m not crying nope no way it’s so nice and wholesome and wonderful and exactly what I wanted from this.

This show is definitely one of my favorites.