#I know most people write fic just to write Mary

[nonbinarymarygoore]

Has anyone written fic of the other Repugnant guys on ao3

[nicksolemnlyswears]

hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Okay so…I may have taken the innocence thing just a bit too far? I grew up Mormon and now I have a shit load of religious trauma and I think that propelled this one a bit so…I hope it was everything you wanted and if it isn’t I’m so sorry😅 but this is probably the most fun fic that I’ve ever gotten a request for and now I want to write more like it🤣

I apologize in advance

Warnings: Major Innocence Kink which pushes its way into Dub-Con, Breeding Kink, Daddy Kink (Dd-Lg), Religious Trauma

DD:DNE

This is a Religious Fic.

Don’t Like = Don’t Read!!

It’s possible I took the innocent thing a bit too far but considering you didn’t want her to know what sex was at all I assume that’s what you wanted? I hope it’s what you intended.

If you had told Klaus that one day he would work at an all girls catholic school he wouldn’t have believed you. Here he is though, Saint Holy Mary’s School for Girls as an Art teacher and he’s never been happier.

When Klaus met Y/n he knew she was perfect, she had been home for summer break at the time and Klaus scared off some teenage boys making vulgar comments to her as she walked home. They talked for a few minutes and it didn’t take Klaus long to understand that she’s innocent. Alarmingly innocent. She’s a teenager who is almost an adult that no one has taught about sex, and while Klaus wanted to know how that’s even possible, he decided instead to just enjoy the gift he has been given in the form of his innocent little Bunny.

She was shocked to see him in the school but pleasantly surprised, she blushed whenever he spoke to her, blushed whenever she saw him in the halls or at meals and blushed whenever he complimented her projects. Klaus had spent nearly 2 months just getting her comfortable in his presence, she spends a lot of time with him and often helps him with things that get her out of different classes. Y/n loved spending time with Klaus just as much as he did with her, she proved it the first time he touched her, though she clearly hadn’t understood what was going on and he found it truly adorable.

‘Might as well just spend the rest of class here love, there’s 20 more minutes.’ She shrugged, blushing as he pulled a chair over beside him for her to sit in. She made herself comfortable and Klaus couldn’t keep from looking at her legs, the short skirt she was forced to wear everyday showing several inches above her mid thigh and he couldn’t stop from imagining them wrapped around his head. ‘So, tell me Y/n, what made your parents choose this school for you? Were you too naughty for them to control anymore or did your parents go here?’ Once again her face was red as she quickly corrected him.

‘My mom went here! I didn’t-I’m not-‘

‘I was teasing love, I know you’re the most innocent girl here.’ He was still teasing her, wanting to see how she would react and she didn’t disappoint him.

‘I’m not that innocent. I just don’t like to break the rules…my dad never paid much attention to me when I was a kid unless I did something right so breaking the rules wasn’t really an option I guess…I don’t like-‘

‘You don’t like people to be disappointed in you. It’s a good thing, but I don’t think anyone could be disappointed in you Bunny, you’re perfect.’ He could practically smell the blood rushing to her cheeks as he rested a hand on her knee but she didn’t pull away. ‘Such a good girl.’

‘Thank you, you’re always so sweet, I love getting to talk to you Mr.Mikaelson.’

‘Ah ah ah. What have I told you about that? You call me by my first name now that we’re friends. You wouldn’t want me to be…disappointed in you would you?’ He questioned, moving his hand up to hold her thigh and seeing his fingers only about 2 inches from touching her panties making her breath just a bit heavier.

‘No! I’m sorry, I just, it’s weird to call a teacher by his name is all-‘

‘But we’re friends. After all this time I thought we were…more than friends even?’ Her eyes widened and she held the sleeve of his red Henley tightly.

‘Of course we are! We’re best friends! I’m sorry Klaus, you know I love spending time with you.’ He couldn’t help his smile at her nearly idiotic level of innocence as she thought he meant ‘best friends’ even as he has his hand almost under her skirt.

‘It’s okay. I love being your best friend, you’re my precious little Bunny. I could never really be disappointed in you love.’ His hand squeezed her flesh and she gasped quietly just before he caught a heavenly scent coming from her making his fangs ache in desperate need of being buried in her throat. In the 2 months he had known her, he had never smelled that sweet slick between her legs until now and he could see as she pushed them together that she didn’t quite understand what the feeling in her stomach was. He would have to teach her everything…he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about that.

For the next month he got her accustomed to him touching her, arms, legs, back, face, his hands anywhere on her body wasn’t something she minded, not even when he hugged her from behind and rested his hands on her lower belly. That’s when he knew, when she leaned back into him and pushed her thighs together, he knew he could have her.

The next time they were alone together he made sure they had plenty of time. Y/n was scheduled to stay at home that weekend but Klaus made sure something came up with her parents so she couldn’t go. When she spoke to him, he convinced her to not tell the school and just spend the weekend at his place. It would be fun. She was so excited by the idea of spending time with her friend outside of school that she barely worried about the broken rules, getting off at the first bus stop after leaving the school and hopping into his car with a huge smile on her face.

Klaus had gotten all kinds of snacks and drinks, ordering takeout and relaxing with her eating everything she’s not normally allowed to. He had also gone to the store and gotten her clothes, both pajamas and day clothes to wear if she wanted to go someplace tomorrow or Sunday, all of which were short or revealing and he had her change into black short shorts and a tank top with a wolf on it. Last but not least he put on an R rated movie. She argued but didn’t put up too much of a fight about it. It was a horror movie and she was shocked by the cursing and the drugs, but she enjoyed the stupidity of the characters and how they died.

It wasn’t until they got to the reason Klaus chose this movie that she seemed uncomfortable. She watched as the teenage boy pulled his girlfriend onto his lap and ripped her top off, her tits flashing on the screen before he seemed to make a meal out of them.

Klaus had ensured that Y/n was pressed against his side firmly with his arm around her waist so that he wouldn’t need to pull her closer when the scene came on.

As the boy continued kissing down her body he flipped the girl over and ripped off her panties, shoving his face into her. Y/n gasped, completely stunned by this action and looking up at Klaus in shock. ‘What are they doing?’ She questioned and he looked down at her, trying to stay neutral.

‘They’re having sex love, being normal teenagers. You…you know what sex is…don’t you?’

‘Of course I do, I…it’s to make babies…my mom said I didn’t need to know until…until I was ready to get married. They’re sinning.’ Klaus chuckled at that and Y/n looked back up at him confused before turning back to the television and watching as the boy began thrusting into the girl roughly and she began crying out in pleasure.

‘All teenagers have sex Y/n, it’s more strange not to have done it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t support mindless sex with a bunch of people you don’t know but if you love someone, really care for them then you should express that with them. You don’t have to make a baby, there’s ways to avoid it if you want to but sex is called ‘making love’ for a reason, it’s the best way to express your care for that special someone.’ She looked confused but he could also smell her excitement. ‘They love each other, so they’re making each other feel good. It’s normal and I’m so sorry you’ve been deprived of basic knowledge…do you see her face?’ He asked, knowing exactly how he was going to convince her to let him touch her. ‘What does her face look like?’

‘Happy…really happy.’

‘Right, and the sounds she’s making? Tell me, what do her sounds make you feel?’ Her face was redder than he had ever seen and she looked away from the TV quickly before he tilted her head up. ‘It’s okay Y/n, I love you. You can tell me how you’re feeling. I would never betray your trust and tell anyone anything. You can be honest with me…do you want me to tell you first?’ She nodded quickly and he tried desperately to hide his smile. ‘Well, when I hear her moaning like that I…honestly it makes me desperate to know what you would sound like if you felt good.’ Y/n was now turned toward his body and holding his Henley tightly, clearly trying to calm her breathing as she got too excited. ‘What are you feeling right now? I won’t make fun of you, I want to help.’

‘I…I feel tingly in…in bad places Klaus…sometimes when-Oh God-‘

‘It’s okay. You’re doing so good Bunny, so, so good for me.’ He pulled her onto his lap gently and ran his hands up her sides.

‘When you…t-touch me I get…I feel hot…and tingly…and I get…I-I get-‘

‘Does your pussy get wet for me Bunny?’ She groaned out, in embarrassment and relief both but he didn’t care as he gripped onto her thigh tightly. ‘It’s normal. It means you love me a whole lot, just like I love you.’ Her whimper was quiet but instant.

‘You do?’ He nodded. ‘Do…do you get wet too?’

How stupid is her fucking mother that she could teach her daughter basic-fuck that women!

‘No Bunny, but my cock gets hard for you whenever you touch me, or I think about you, sometimes at night I touch myself and just think about how precious and beautiful you are and it makes my cock feel so much better. When a man’s cock gets too hard it hurts and you are always the one who makes the pain stop, you make me feel so good Precious.’

‘Are you in pain now Klaus?’ She wondered and this was exactly how he knew he would get her to let him do anything he fucking wanted.

‘Yes Bunny, I’ve been in pain since the movie started.’ She looked up at him in shock and worry making him wince a bit as he moved to prove his discomfort.

‘How do you make it stop hurting, I can-I can leave you alone if you need-‘

‘Don’t leave me Bunny, no! Please? I need to hold you Y/n, don’t go-‘

‘Okay. I’m not going anywhere.’ She reached up, running her fingers through his hair and it sent a shiver down his spine.

‘Have you ever seen a cock before?’ He asked her and she shook her head, probably thankful she couldn’t get redder than she is. ‘Do…do you want to?’ She hesitated before looking back up at him and nodding, trying to look determined which made her all the more adorable. He moved slowly so she didn’t get scared, it had been probably about 200 years since he had fucked a virgin and he knew he needed to be even slower with Y/n. He pushed his sweat pants down along with his boxer briefs, his cock standing straight and hard, leaking at the tip, and completely red which seemed to make her believe he was in serious pain.

As if Y/n couldn’t control herself she reached her hand out and touched his tip, dragging her finger down his length before yanking her hand away when he groaned. ‘I’m Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you! I-‘

‘No Bunny, no! You made me feel so good, so fucking good! Please just…oh God, please touch me? Please Bunny, help me?’ His desperate cries of pain were too much for her and she reached out, wrapping her hand around his cock, watching him throw his head back as his hand tightened on her thigh. She pumped her hand up and down his length a few times before her eyes found his tip which was leaking. She swiped her thumb across it and his hips thrust up, nearly throwing her off of his lap. ‘My good girl, so good for me! Such a good little Bunny for your Daddy! Don’t stop? Please?!’ He held her hand and helped her speed up for a few moments before looking back down at her and his eyes flashing to her lips. ‘Y/n…will you do something else for me?’

She nodded quickly. ‘Anything Daddy.’

Fuck! He could have cum right there and been completely happy with it but he pushed it back. ‘Please? Daddy needs your lips.’

‘My-my lips?’

He nodded. ‘Please? Just the tip if you want, suck on it like I gave you a lollipop…can you do that Precious?’ She looked back down at his cock before smiling and nodding her head, moving from his lap and kneeling. He could see the excitement in her eyes and he knew right away he was creating a desperate whore. He was going to ruin this girl and he couldn’t care any fucking less, she would belong to no one but him for the rest of eternity and he would never let anyone else touch her perfect body so…how wrong is it really?

She wrapped her lips around his tip and suckled, tongue running over his slit which made his legs stiffen and shake as she did it again, dragging her lips down his length and moaning. That was the final straw for him. He had imagined her mouth and her noises so many times and nothing came close to this, she was perfection and she was never getting away from him. He held the back of her head still as he came up into her mouth and though she jerked a bit at first she got used to it and quickly swallowed, sucking on his cock for more. ‘Did I make you feel better?’ He couldn’t speak, only nod in that moment of total bliss, head thrown back against the couch to keep her from seeing the dark veins under his golden eyes until he could get his hybrid visage under control again, Fuck this girl does things to him! ‘Can I have more cream Daddy?’

‘Oh Fuck!’ Her innocent eyes and words were going to push him over the edge much too quickly. ‘Daddy…Daddy wants to give you more cream. I’ll give you Daddy cream all you want Babygirl but…do you think Daddy can put it somewhere else?’ She tilted her head, looking up at him from her knees. ‘Do you trust me?’ Y/n nodded her head quickly and he smirked, knowing this would be easier than he thought. ‘Can I show you?’

‘Yes Daddy.’ God he’s going to stretch her pussy so much this weekend there will be a permanent indentation of his cock. He lifted her up and laid her onto the couch, throwing his shirt away and grabbing ahold of hers, pulling it off and quickly keeping her arms from covering her perfect tits. They were just the perfect size for his hands and so fucking cute that he couldn’t resist leaning down and wrapping his lips around a nipple, her hips flying up when his teeth nibbled. He took full advantage, dragging his hands down her sides and holding onto her shorts and panties, nibbling again and pulling the clothes down and off as her hips thrust up again. ‘Daddy!’

‘Shh…it’s okay Y/n, it’s just Daddy. I love you Bunny, and I want to spend the rest of eternity at your side making your pussy drip for me, do…do you want me?’ He asked, seeming nervous so that she feels needier for him.

‘Yes Daddy, forever but…you’re my teacher, how-‘

‘You let me worry about that, Daddy will make it all okay…just let Daddy…let Daddy inside of you.’ He groaned, pushing her legs apart and squeezing her thighs with an image of his girl round with his baby burned into his brain, silently begging whatever Gods exist if any to allow him to be able to put a baby in his Little Bunny. Leaning his face down into her wetness he licked his tongue up her slit, lapping at her like a thirsty animal before caressing her clit with the tip of his tongue.

‘Oh Daddy! Don’t Stop! Please?!’ He didn’t, he shoved his face into her cunt and ate her like his life depends on it. He wrapped his hand around hers as he wiggled his tongue against her clit and felt her legs lock around his head as she reached her peak for the first time ever, crying out so loud he knew the neighbors would hear if he’d had any. When he pulled away he crawled back up her chest and kissed her neck, lining his cock up at her hole and pushing his way into her before she had time to have doubts, still on cloud nine as he pushed the last 2 inches in a short thrust and she squealed.

‘That’s it Bunny, oh god you’re so perfect. So fucking perfect! So tight on my-‘

‘Daddy! Y-You’re in-inside…you can’t-‘

‘Clearly I can. And I am.’ He turned her face to look up at him and made sure she was looking him in the eyes. ‘My cock is in your pussy right now, so deep you can practically feel me in your guts, can’t you?’ She nodded, whining. ‘This is my pussy now, all mine. No one can ever take you away from me…you have the most perfect cunt I’ve ever seen baby.’ He pulled back a few inches before pushing in again and pressing his lips to her lips for the first time. ‘Tell me Bunny, what was it you wanted from Daddy?’

‘Daa-ah!’ He thrust up again when she didn’t answer and he smirked, feeling his fangs trying to push out of his gums as he became more and more desperate to mark her.

‘Tell me what you wanted.’

‘D-Daddy cream…wanted m-more Daddy cream…please Daddy? Can I have more?’ She was begging now, whining in desperation for his cum in her womb.

‘Daddy will always give you cream. Daddy’s gonna fill you with so much you’ll be leaking for days. We’re going to fill you with cream for the next 2 days and maybe I’ll keep you even longer just to make sure it’s all properly fucked into you.’

‘Yes! Daddy cream! Want you inside me Daddy, inside me forever! Your cock feels so good! Why did no one tell me it feels so good! Can you stay inside me forever? Daddy, please?’

‘Oh Bunny…Daddy’s gonna breed this little body so much, gonna fill you with my cum over and over again until you’re a leaking, fucked out mess, until all you can do is whine and babble my fucking name! Until all you can say is ‘please Daddy more?’ And I’ll fill you over and over until it takes and you’re carrying my baby inside of your gorgeous body.’ Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, his hips thrusting harder as she realized what he meant, what he was really doing. ‘That’s right Bunny, you’re gonna give Daddy babies, gonna fill you with my babies over and over and still you’ll be desperate for more. Cause you know what bunnies do? They breed, they breed like crazy, they get Fucked-‘ he thrust hard getting deeper into her, now holding her legs up and getting as deep as he physically can. ‘-until they can’t anymore and then they do it again cause they’re so needy and desperate and slutty that they can’t stop. You have a slutty little pussy Bunny, are you ready for Daddy to fill it?’

He knew he wouldn’t stop even if she said ‘no’ but he wanted her to want it, because she is his for the rest of eternity. ‘P-please? Daddy cream! Fill my pussy Daddy! Please?!’

‘That’s my good girl. Daddy’s good girl, gonna be so full of me! Fuck!’ He shoved his cock into her as deeply as he could, feeling her pussy squeezing him through her own orgasm and practically milking his cock for all he could give her and Klaus had never felt so blissful, not in 1000 years.

He kept himself buried inside of her cunt, holding her close and pulling a blanket over the both of them, nuzzling into her throat to find some comfort before drifting off to sleep with the TV sound in the background.

Sometime in the night Klaus had moved them upstairs to his bed and cleaned the both of them up. Later that morning he was awoken by the girl in his arms moving, opening his eyes to see her sitting up and keeping the sheet wrapped around her body.

‘I saw it all last night gorgeous, might as well leave the sheet.’ She turned her head to look down at him and as soon as he saw the tears in her eyes he was moving. ‘Oh no, Bunny! No tears, why are you crying?’ To his relief she didn’t fight him, crying into his bare chest as he held her.

‘What am I going to do?!’ She cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and sniffling.

‘What do you mean? You’re going to stay right here, with me. I love you Y/n, and all you and I did last night was show our love for each other, there’s nothing wrong with that-‘

‘Unless I’m Pregnant! My Mom Is Going To Kill Me! I’m a disappointment to God and my father-Oh God My Father! He’s gonna kill me-‘ Klaus clamped his hand over Y/n’s mouth to stop her sobbing.

‘No one is Ever going to hurt you, and do you know why?’ She shook her head, tears streaming down her sweet face which he reached to wipe away. ‘Because you’re my Little Bunny. All mine. You asked last night why you weren’t told how good you could feel, remember?’ She nodded. ‘You weren’t told so that they could control you. You’re almost an adult and no one told you about anything, that’s wrong and cruel and dangerous! You gave yourself to me last night and I am going to spend the rest of our lives worshipping my girl like a Princess…you still love me…don’t you?’

‘Yes! Of course I do Klaus! I love you so much but my father will never let me be with you! He doesn’t care what I want, he will choose my husband once I graduate-‘

‘Y/n, you’ve already chosen. You’re 18, an adult, able to make your own choices. No one can tell you what to do anymore unless you want them to…we can go. Go back to the school, pack your things, I’ll quit my job and we can be together.’ Klaus knew when he looked at her curious eyes that he had her, he was going to make this happen and the best part is Y/n will think she made her own decision for the first time ever.

‘But what about your job? We’ll go live together with no income? I won’t have a diploma so I can’t get a job to-‘

‘You will never have a job!’ Klaus swore and she looked startled. ‘I have plenty of money, I’m an artist, I sell my work all the time. I worked in that school because…because I fell in love with you. I know it’s crazy, of course it is but I couldn’t leave you Y/n! You were already my everything…please tell me you’ll come with me? I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted! A wonderful house on acres and acres of woods and privacy, no one to bother us…except maybe my siblings on occasion but they’ll love you! Your parents won’t be able to control you anymore. You can wear what you want, anything you want, eat what you want, read, write, study, learn whatever you want! I’ll give you jewelry and silk sheets, a maid, the library you always talk about wanting, I can-‘

‘I just want you…’ Klaus’ eyes widened at her soft words. ‘I don’t need all that fancy stuff if I have you…don’t get me wrong, it sounds wonderful but can…can you promise me you’ll never leave me? That it will always be us for the rest of forever?’

He smirked at that, knowing instantly that the deal was sealed, Y/n is all his. ‘Forever and a day my precious girl. I love you so much, and we’re going to be so happy together.’ Y/n grinned, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips to hers in a wonderful, needy kiss. ‘I’m going to make you scream in pleasure every night until you can’t remember your own name anymore, Bunny.’

She pulled back from his lips, peeking up at him with a shy look. ‘Daddy’s gonna give me babies?’

And just like that his cock was so hard he felt like a teenager again, desperately horny with an erection that won’t quit. Y/n is going to be full of him there’s no way she won’t end up carrying his child and he already has plans to speak to a witch about ensuring it. ‘Daddy’s going to fill you with babies everyday, every single day until it takes. Gonna keep you so full you won’t know what it’s like to be empty anymore…in fact, we should fill you up before we go get your things, shouldn’t we?’ Y/n squealed as Klaus lifted her, sitting her onto his lap and holding her up with one arm around her waist as he lined his cock up with her dripping hole. ‘Already soaking wet for Daddy, my needy little whore. So perfect-‘ She gasped loudly, looking down at him in desperation.

‘Not a whore Daddy! I’m not! I would never-‘

‘No, Shh, Shh, Shh. It’s okay Princess, My whore. Daddy’s whore, My girl who will do all the wonderful, depraved things Daddy wants you to. Do you understand? Not A whore, My whore. Any other cock comes anywhere near you I’ll cut it off and stick it up their ass.’ He pushed his cock up into her and she whined, still a bit sore from last night but feeling too good to care.

They ended up staying in bed for another 4 hours, Klaus filling his girl 3 more times before taking a nap together. Getting to the school and compelling the Dean was arguably too easy and they were long gone before Y/n’s parents ever came looking for her. It’s not like they would want her back with how badly Klaus had corrupted her.

Their little girl was gone.

She’s Klaus’ Little Bunny now.

Religious Teachings Moodboard

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

[princesssmars]

i'd love just about anyone, so why was it you?

a victoria neuman x reader

your talent for singing is finally starting to take you places in the city of lights. so why did it have to introduce you to a woman who might ruin it all?

wc : 10.248

contains : fxf relationship. readers hair and skin aren't described. fluff. angst.nsfw including sex and language. the french. barely proof-read.

a/n : i cant believe there are no fics for this fine ass woman yet but i am nothing but a pioneer idk. in my daydreams this was like mafia au victoria but i literally never write or dream of those so i opted out lmao. go watch gen v. everyone always talks about how good the cover is but nonante-cinq by angele is a beautiful album so i recommend listening to that for french vibes. enjoy <3

it was the most stereotypical and overplayed song ever, but damn did you love la vie en rose.

just the concept of the song was romantic to you. to live every day like it would be magnificent, like you could know a day would be your last and look back at it and not regret a single thing. it meant looking at the world with a positivity that these days was mostly faked or artificial.

after the life you've lived, the things you've seen firsthand, you need that positive light in your life more than anything else. especially right now, as your manager is hounding you over the phone about your next gig.

now you loved your manager, nancy, you really did. she took you in and was honest when no one else would be, stood by you when no one else wanted to give you a real chance. but sometimes it felt like she didn't really believe in you. obviously, she believed you had talent, or else she would have 'left you in the dust for the rats to pick apart,' in her own words. it was almost like she couldn't fathom that what you had was real, like you didn't truly deserve all the things that were coming to you.

but as long as you were paying her, she didn't bother to speak up on it.

you were listening to her drone on and on into the speaker from your phone, holding the object up to your ear with one hand as you hold a menu to order something from the cafe waitress who's waiting beside you.

"ill have an uhhhh... le marie antoinette, and a coffee with sugar and cream please," you hand the menu to the waitress after she writes down your order, heading back into the cafe with a smile. this cafe was one of your favorites, nestled below an apartment building in one of the inner city arrondissements so you could sit outside beneath an umbrella and admire the city before you. "nancy, i don't see why i can't just...politely turn it down? it sounds like it's a glorified pin-up girl gig, le bellevilloise is offering for me to sing there exclusively for three months-"

"no, that's what im trying to tell you if you'd let me finish." you can hear nancy's telltale sigh through the phone. she had a short temper when she was stressed, something you sadly had in common, and you could hear her clicking a pen through the receiver. "this is an international gala slash fundraiser, attended by the one percent of the one percent. billionaires, senators, diplomats, everything. the event organizer asked for you specifically, so turning it down is a bad look. aka, you're doing it. go out and get a pretty dress. ill send you more details later."

the phone shut off and you let out a huff of air, crossing your right leg over your left beneath the table. once you have your meal and bite into your pastry you can't help but close your eyes at how good it tastes; the combination of the crunch of the macarons, the near-overwhelming sweetness of the cream, and the savory juice that leaks from the raspberries never gets old.

you don't know how you feel about this whole gala thing. sure its a great way to make connections and earn a fat stack of cash that will probably last you few weeks, but you've learned before that the people that you most admire, celebrities, politicians, even superheroes, can't be trusted. and being in a room full of them to perform wasn't at the top of your christmas wish list.

but like everyone else in the world, you were finding money hard to pass up on. just by the lowball nancy told you, you'd be able to comfortably pay the next month's rent and fix up your electric scooter, maybe even enough to save up for that beautiful flat you saw online with the grand windows and nice floor plan.

it'd only be a few hours of singing and kissing up to a bunch of snobs and you'd be done. easy peasy.

finding a dress wasn't to hard. your modeling connections from before you started to focus on singing gave you access to a few, good quality clearance pieces for your picking. you figure that the people you were performing for would prefer something classy and elegant, so you picked out a sleeveless black dress with black opera gloves, accessorized by a diamond necklace and earrings. one of your stylist friends, alex, who you asked to help do up your hair told you 'you're definitely gonna shag a rich man looking like this, just ask them if they have any friends for me!' and after a quick 'please don't wish that upon me' and a spritz of perfume you were ready.

the hours before you got on stage were nothing short of both nerve-racking but exhilarating. you rode in a standard taxi, your slight jitters noticed by the slightly balding man in the front. he eyes you pretty oddly when you got in the car before using you if you were a model, telling you that his daughter would like an autograph if you were. you felt slightly flustered when you had to tell him you weren't, but gave him some tips to tell his daughter if she wanted to pursue it. after around twenty minutes of driving through the city the car stops and you're escorted by a crew member into a grand building, those types you pass by and dream of getting the chance just to step into.

after that its a rush of meeting the event planner who gives you another run down of the evening and then meeting with the band members, a nice group of jazz players who you had heard about on the news for their blends of old and new methods of performing music. they played you a piece on their instruments in their dressing room, and it felt like hanging out with old friends listening to tunes as one twirled you around and the others laughed and the air felt warm and fuzzy.

later its time for your set, where you'll sing as the guests come in and take occasional breaks to save your breath and let whoever is hosting this talk. so you get up on your mini stage, make sure you look alright and you're in tune with the band, and then you do what you do best.

you've never felt better than how you do while you sing. every time you do so you tell a story, tales of success and tragedy and love and heartache. while you sing your favorite thing to do is to admire the crowd. when you were younger it gave you horrible stage fright, but as you grew up and saw just how much people loved your voice it made you confident, if not the tiniest bit narcissistic.

as you look out at the guests of tonight you see what's expected. important and powerful men donned in suits, their wives standing on their arms in glamourous gowns, you swear that you even see some fairly famous celebs in the mix, and they were all listening intently to you and your voice.

and that's when you saw her. near the back of the room with a glass of red wine in her hand, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, and darker eyes trained on you. in this profession you get used to people staring at you for hours on end, but something about this woman unnerves you slightly.

a short while later your set is over and after a round of applause the organizer tells you to enjoy yourselves, and that you're free to indulge in whatever food is left. after a brief touch-up in the dressing room and making sure you look presentable, you head out to get yourself something to eat. you keep getting stopped by people telling you how beautiful your performance was, how they'd love to get in contact with your agent to book you for future events, and your regular dose of creepy old guys hitting on you. but besides that things were going pretty well.

some servers were waking around with trays of champagne, but you figured since everything was complimentary you would treat yourself to something stronger. you head to the bar and order yourself a strong cocktail, and as soon as you finish your order a figure sits on the stool next to yours.

"get me a scotch on the rocks, thanks."

you glance at them from the corner of your eye and feel your heart beat faster when you see

it's the woman from before. from this close distance, you can admire her entirely, and god is she gorgeous. she looks so put together, not a hair out of place, and wearing a perfectly tailored suit that makes you guess she's some kind of wealthy businesswoman.

after not so secretly checking her out, she turns her body towards you and looks at you with a smile.

"im sure you already know, but you have an enchanting voice."

you look down bashfully, thinking the same about her. she speaks like she's so sure of what she's saying like there's no room for debate or argument.

"thank you. no matter if i know or not, it doesn't take much to make me a little nervous every time i perform."

the bartender brings over both of your drinks and she tilts hers to you.

"trust me, theres no need. you're nothing but a natural, one of the best singers i've ever heard."

"ah, now you're exaggerating. is there a reason you're complimenting me like you're being paid to do so?"

she shakes her head, setting down her glass of liquor with a clink. "not anything nefarious, if that's what you're thinking. just glad i get to talk to a beautifully talented woman."

jeez, she was laying it on thick. normally this was coming from some fifty-year-old man with greasy skin and weird teeth, but it felt nice coming from her. she was obviously gorgeous, leaving her body language open in case you wanted to decline and she would walk away in a moment's notice.

"im glad i get to talk to you too, miss?"

"victoria. its a pleasure to talk to you, miss y/n."

for around an hour or two the both of you sat at that bar, blocking out the fake laughs of investors and boisterous noises of people who got a little too friendly with the free champagne. she was so attentive to you. asking about what got you into singing and what brought you to paris by your non-native accent. you normally kept the finer details of your past a close-guarded secret, but you figured there couldn't come any harm from telling this attractive stranger a few things about yourself before never seeing her again.

"you're telling me at only sixteen years old, you flew to paris by yourself and made a living for yourself? you've got balls on you, sister."

"yeah yeah, but im nothing special. i just got tired of all the bullshit in the u.s., y'know? the greed, the cynicism, the-"

"superhero bullshit?"

you giggled while she smirked, observing your smile and how it made your eyes squinch.

"well i wouldn't put it like that but...superheros? really? its just, they make it so american, in a really really annoying way. i just couldn't deal with that being a reality. and where better than paris? it seems like voughts all but forgotten about it recently, thank god.”

"i understand. and i know we just met, but it does suit you. 'beautiful runaway finds passion, life, and love in the city of lights'. best cliche there is."

"and what a damn good cliche it is to be. although i haven't been that lucky on the love front."

her eyebrow raises and her nail traces around the rim of her glass.

"im sorry but i simply cant believe that. someone like you would have people lining up for a chance to talk to you, let alone date you."

you dryly chuckle before taking another long swig of your glass of champagne, dancing just on the edge of being intoxicated. you understood why everyone else was drinking this, it was sweet but strong.

"people have tried, of course. but sadly most of my escapades end in tragedy. very melodramatically. but enough about me, I'm guessing this isn't gonna go my way and you have someone waiting for you at home?"

"im offended you still think so low of me. but no, there was someone but it didn't work out. now its just me and my daughter."

god, she was a milf. if there was a god you prayed he would let you get lucky tonight.

"well, im sorry to hear it didnt work out."

"are you really?"

she looks at you with a smirk on her face.

"no, im not."

that was all she needed to ask you to come back with her to her hotel.

and not just any hotel, she was rich enough to be spending two weeks in the damn ritz. asking again what she did for a living didn't get you very far, the only hint you got being that it helped her change the world. ominous but whatever. it had to be legitimate if she was invited to that gala.

the cautious and common sense side of you is snuffed out for the night the moment she set her hand over the covered skin of your thigh in the car, the feeling of her hand on your lower back leading you through the pristine lobby of the hotel, that same hand helping you take off your dress and take you apart slowly over the rest of the night.

when you wake up the sun is peeking through the curtains, the softness of the sheets your laying on calling you back to sleep before you get up and look around.

you only got a few seconds to admire the room last night before victoria was on you, and now in the light of day you could truly take everything in. you find a note left by the woman, letting you know she had to leave temporarily for an important job thing and that she'd be back my lunch, inviting you to call up room service and enjoy the room intil then.

you were expecting for her to tell you to pack your shit up and go, so despite the oddness this was a nice surprise. besides, there was no way you were gonna pass up on ordering a five-star breakfast you didnt have to pay for.

after indulging in a meal brought by room service and finding ways to pass the time, you text your manager after she happily lets you know that your night was a success and that your payment should be cleared shortly. while you're in the middle of wondering if you should answer her query about the host wondering where you wandered off to last night, the sound of a door opening makes your head jerk towards the small entry area, victoria coming in through the doorway dressed in a tan suit and carrying a large black briefcase on her arm.

"ah, youre still here!,” she sets her bag on a glass table near the door and strides into the room, eyes connected with yours the whole time. you weren’t feeling nervous before, but under her gaze you wonder if maybe you should have taken that free meal along with some tiny soaps from the bathroom and headed back home.

“yeah, figured i’d stick around for whatever. besides, i had to stay and blame you for my manager thinking i got kidnapped.”

“i’ll make sure to apologize and send her an edible arrangement. besides, i hope to take up more of your time in the future.”

your eyes bulge so hard you’re sure you look like a moron. you cover it up by getting up to get yourself another cup of coffe from the tray the food came in on.

“well i should’ve guessed this was more than a one night stand when you allowed me to order up breakfast. but now i have to admit i’m slightly scared you’re actually plotting to traffick me.”

"trust me, that wouldn't be good for business. id just like to see you some more, if that would be alright with you.

was that an actual question? after the night you had and the way she’s been treating you, you didn’t see much of a choice except to say yes.

she tells you that a few hours later she has a flight back to america, but that she wouldn't mind spending the day with you if you're free. you agree to get a little bite to eat and it turns into a whirlwind day of showing her around the city you call your home. she has to wear giant sunglasses the whole time and have a mysterious security detail not too far behind, but you wouldn't change anything about it.

at the end of it all, she bids you goodbye in front of your taxi, admiring the cute outfit she bought for you so you wouldn't have to go home in your dress from the night prior, promising that she'll keep in touch with you once she gets settled in back a new york, jokingly telling you she'll send you a postcard. as you sit in the back of the taxi, your heart inflates a little as you take in the events of the last day. you never liked to mix business with pleasure in this way, partly because most of those business people were gross perverts and also that it could damage your career beyond repair, but with victoria you can't help but think that it was worth it.

eventually, a few days pass by, and the only calls you've gotten are from friends congratulating on what they heard was another great performance. and as nice as all the praise and the new gigs you started to get felt, the longer you heard no word back from victoria, it started to eat away at you inside.

back at your favorite cafe you sit with two of your oldest friends, jamie and chloe, as they ramble about the details of their changing lives and jobs. you don't know when you zoned out but eventually, chloe's manicured finger lightly pokes at your cheek, giggling when you make a playful motion to bite it.

"where'd you go just now? take me with you before jamie keeps talking about his new lover."

"hey!" jamie pouts, "you're just jealous because i've been regularly having passionate sex allll night long while you're still vying over your boss." you hear a shocked gasp behind him and you all turn to see an elderly couple looking at jamie like he's said the most blasphemous thing they've ever heard.

"really classy, james." you snort.

"what the hell! you're supposed to be on my side! everyone has noticed how you've been in a better mood since that gala. alex told us how they checked up on you afterwise and you showed up a day later with a new outfit and a hickey on your neck."

"that is- god, that’s so intrusive and so like them,” you rolled your eyes. you knew as soon as alex saw you that morning that they’d be gossiping to everyone about the state they saw you in. “and i don’t kiss and tell like that. at least not in public like this.”

“ok, so we’ll stop by your place tonight with some wine and talk all about it tonight. agree?”

“what? no-”

“agree!” chloe beams and shakes hands with jamie across the table, blowing you kisses before leaving her share of the bill on the table and leaving with some excuse of having to be somewhere. you glare at jamie as a warning before he gives you a kiss on the cheek and does the same. you grumble before biting into your muffin.

a few hours later you’re sitting on your soft sofa with jamie’s head in your lap and chloe on the other side, talking and laughing about old stories from your jobs. you take a sip of merlot right before jamie brings up what you were hoping they’d forgotten about by now.

“ok ok, enough chatter. seriously, chlo, you cackle like a seagull. y/n, when are you going to tell us about this mystery lover of yours? do you need another glass of wine to start talking?”

“don’t even think about pouring me another glass. look, there’s not much to say, ok? i was singing, she was staring at me from across the bar, we flirted a little, that was it!”

they stared.

“you want more?”

“how could we not? we haven’t seen you like this with anyone! not since we took you on that tourist tour on the seine!”

that…that took you for a spin. you remembered it clear as day, them tugging you along when they’d heard since you came to paris you’d been focusing on building up your image and working. it was more a joke, but the lights of the boat, the sky and the lights made you feel like you were in the most perfect moment of your life. hearing them compare that to how you looked now had a nervous feeling building in your gut.

“we spent the night together. and it was…good. really good. she let me stay while she went out, bought me a new outfit then said she’d be in touch.”

your friends are silent. way too silent. you’re afraid they’re about to laugh and judge you before they’re squealing and tackling you, pulling back when you groan after you almost spill your wine on your clothes.

"god, why are you always the lucky one? this isn't fair! at all!" chloe groans while dramatically resting her head on your shoulder, jamie still giggling as the wine clearly starts to take an effect on him. "please, please tell us what happens next before i scream."

"no thats- i mean, thats it. so far. for now." you stutter along your words as your friends' faces go blank yet again, except this time without a hint of a chuckle or smile.

"what the hell do you mean 'that's it.'? she ghosted you?" jamie gasps.

"no, she didnt ghost me-"

"sweetheart, im sorry to say this but you have been ghosted. in a really dickhead way."

"its not like that! she's a busy person with a serious job and a kid and responsibilities!"

you briefly hear chloe snicker "milf?" before you roll your eyes.

"she's gonna contact me. and even if she doesn't, maybe it was just a nice one-time thing! everyone knows I'm great at those."

jamie snickers before chloe smacks his shoulder in a second.

"why? why did you laugh?"

they share a look before she smacks his shoulder again.

"would you stop? i have pains, you know this. but y/n, we know you. we love you. but your latest stints haven't been...the most successful. or left you in the best headspaces."

"he's right, honey. remember the last girl, hannah? one of the worst situationships i've ever seen. you told us you would be alright when she broke it off and then we found you at that lousy bar at eleven in the morning..."

you start biting at your lip. there was nothing you hated more than when they told you the truth about how you could act. it wasn't your fault that all the time your relationships got messy, or that you got attached a little quickly. people didn't understand but a life like yours could be lonely. standing up on a stage and performing for people who want you to do just that and only that: sing and look like a glamourous pin-up doll. most of the time its the other performers who even bother to ask if your throat is alright after singing for hours.

so yes, sometimes you rushed into relationships. and you might have done it again in the dumbest way possible.

"i just...she let me stay after, y'know? and she came back and brought me with her again. why go through that effort just to leave me behind like trash?" your friends pouted before closing in to comfort you, rubbing your back and giving you small affirmations.

for a month you go into a rut. unless it's performing or going to the dentist for a checkup you don't leave your house. you become pretty good acquaintances with the grocery delivery boy, benny, who started panicking when he realized he forgot one of your items until you assured him it was fine. it wasn't the first time you'd grown so oddly attached to a romantic prospect, and it wasn't the first time you'd gotten hurt by it. you spend your time moping on your couch and binge-watching your favorite show for the third time when your phone buzzes from beside you.

nancy schmancy : call me.

you rolled your eyes. she could have just called you in the first place, but no. she had to be extra about it. you press the call button and don't have to wait even five seconds for her voice to ring in your ear.

"do you want to know what mister barbier just emailed me?"

"i think you already have that answer for me."

"he said, and i quote, 'tell y/n i send my best wishes. her performance last night was hauntingly beautiful, and i'm hoping it was one of her greatest acts yet.'"

"if you ask me, it sounds like i did a pretty good job."

"it sounds like he thought you were singing your damn suicide note!" she groaned, and you could hear her face scrunching from over the phone. "i don't know what is going on with you recently, and i don't want to sound insensitive, but if you can't manage to keep your work and personal life separate, even i can't help you make it far in this business. clients may say they want you to be expressive but they only mean so far. unhappy music means unhappy customers, capeche?"

"i understand, nancy. ill send a personal apology to mister barbier."

"good. ill call you soon to let you know about any new gigs. take care of yourself. seriously."

the line clicks and you toss your phone onto the couch and take another sip of sauvignon blanc from your rose-shaped wine glass. it pained you to admit it, but nancy had a point. if you kept letting yourself mope in your feelings you'd run out of people who wanted you to sing, and if the point came where you were out of gigs...you didn't even want to think about it. if you weren't singing you weren't living.

only a few hours after that call you manage to get back to normal. you go out and get your own groceries, deciding to indulge yourself and buy the ingredients for some recipe you saw online months ago. one of your clients cries at your performance, ecstatically telling you they'll be in talks with your manager to set up a stable contract. things really start to look up. two weeks later you even manage to get the number of a cute girl, elise, a tall woman with dyed hair who reached for the same vintage music box as you at an open market.

you're smiling as you look down at the messy ink on a slip of paper, the numbers and tiny smily face distracting you as you enter the hallway to your apartment. so distracted that you nearly trip over a object on the floor, looking down to see...a bouquet?

a really gorgeous bouquet you notice as you bend over to pick it up. its a collage of dusty blues and off-colored ivories, and when you brought it closer to your nose for a whiff you felt a sense of bliss. you bring it into your apartment with a skip in your step before you spot a piece of paper among the flowers, plucking it from the collection and reading it over.

upon closer inspection, you can see its a postcard, the cover a flattering shot of the statue of liberty with text that reads "love from new york city!". you try to calm your heart down at the location and the 'love' part, but you've already gotten your hopes up when you turn the card around to read the message:

xxx-xxx-xxxx

sorry for the wait. i'll make it up to you, angel.

you'd never felt so conflicted as you did in the past five seconds. half of you was vindicated that yes, this attractive woman didnt leave you high and dry and did actually have a deeper interest in you, but the other part was angry. and embarrassed that you were angry, because again, you spent less than a day with this woman, she didn't owe you anything. but also yes the hell she did.

before you could get yourself together you were harshly tapping the number into your cell, biting at your lip as the phone slowly rings.

"y/n, is that you?" echoes from the line, victorias voice sounding and running over your head like soft silk. no, no, stop it. focus.

"howd you know it was me? im sure you have other people who'd be calling you this late."

"certainly not anyone with a phone number from paris. besides, i was hoping it'd be you."

"well, i would have been flattered two weeks ago but unfortunately i dont think your words could phase me right now."

she sighs and the line goes silent. you feel bad for being catty for a few seconds before you brush it off. she's the one who played with your emotions and promised to call you but never did. she had this coming.

"im sorry, really i am. i've been busy with things at work and my daughter-"

damn it, she pulled the kid card again.

"i just...dont like being lied to. or led on. maybe its my fault for beeing too clingy-"

"no, no. dont apologize. if it means anything youve been on my mind for weeks now."

"yeah, same here. except my thoughts havent been all that nice." you laugh.

"deserved. and id like to make it up to you."

"oh yeah? let me guess, this time we'll spend two nights together?"

"close. how about two weeks. in new york."

you don't know if you should laugh. you feel like you should, so you do. but she isn't.

"you...you're being serious."

"im being serious."

what do you even say? what do you even do? of course, whatever higher power there is would make your life stable and steady for the past few months then throw this in to shake you up. you really should have been expecting it, considering...

you shake yourself back to the present. victoria is still waiting on the other line, unwilling to rush you into a decision, apparently. you'd applaud her for her chivalry if you weren't so stunned.

"victoria, come on. we've only met once, and while it was nice it was brief. now you want me to upend my life and career to jet off to america? it sounds crazy."

"you make me a bit crazy, honestly. besides, you were telling me in bed you haven't been in the states since you left, i have a feeling you miss it more than you let on."

you shuffle in your spot, reminded that you're standing in your cold-ass kitchen and you haven't changed out of the outfit you wore out today. but half of your uncomfortableness is from a feeling gnawing at your chest because she's right. at this point you can barely remember the night you left your childhood home, but you know it was rushed. you wanted to forget everything.

"i think you're also forgetting that i have a blossoming career here. are you gonna pay my definitely going to be pissed off manager her wages? plus i was supposed to be first pick for this really good gig-"

"i'll pay for everything, i promise. dont forget that i have connections. in two weeks they''ll be singing you praises across the globe."

you close your eyes and take in a breath.

"can you make my ticket first class?"

-

one thing you didnt miss about america? just how...much everything was, all the time.

your flight was quiet. victoria didnt hesitate to book you an expensive ticket, almost taking offense to your request for a nice one and scheduling you for business class, sending you a text to get lots of rest in the ultra-luxe beds on the plane. it was probably one of the best nights sleeps you'd had in months.

when you got off the plane there were two tall escorts holding a sign with your last name on it, taking the suitcases from your hands before you could say anything and leading you into a sleek black car. a voice in the back of your head starts screaming but you ignore it. for now.

the men in the car give you some basic rundowns, how they'll constantly be hovering over you during your stay for your "protection", and that they'll be taking you to settle into a hotel until victoria makes contact, and the little voice starts freaking out again and telling you that you've slept with and are fraternizing with a mob boss. at least it's more exciting than your last few flings.

the car goes silent after that, and you put in your earbuds as you watch the city go by. you weren't from new york, but you loved watching movies set in the bustling cityscape. the buildings really are humongous, and you see so many different types of people it sets your brain on a whirlwind.

you look back down at your phone after the fifth 'the seven' advertisement in one block.

yet again you're led into a clearly extremely expensive hotel, breezing through reception before you are led to a luxuriant hotel room, the bodyguards ignoring you as you giggle and flop onto the bed, waving them off when they tell you they'll be posted outside.

the sheets feel heavenly on your skin, and with the soft sunshine from the window beaming down on you and the gentle hustle and bustle of new york outside, you think you could fall asleep in a minute. but, begrudgingly, you peel yourself form the bed and open your suitcase to start putting your clothes away before taking a quick shower in the giant bathtub.

just as you exit the shower and wrap your body in a towel, your phone starts ringing and as soon as you read the 'v' in the contact name you push answer and bring it to your ear.

"hello? vic?"

"hey, hon. eager to talk to me?"

"you called me. and 'hon'? really? we've moved to petnames already?"

"figured id start making up for those weeks with no contact. and id like to do so again tonight. i wanna bring you somewhere."

your mouth quirks up in a smile as you re-adjust the towel around your body, the phone nearly slipping from its quick placement between your phone and ear, "id really like that. i hope its out to dinner, i didnt care to eat any of the plane food."

“yes, it’s to dinner. but its up to you if you want it to be fancy or casual. i know its tacky but there’s this pretty cute french place near where i live...”

“that vaguely sounds like an invitation to your place, but ill let it slide. are you gonna pick me up or are your special agents going to escort me everywhere for the next few weeks?”

“special agents? what agents?”

a bead of water drips from your neck down your back and it feels like the tip of a knife. a pressure builds in the back of your throat and your fingers grip the fabric of your towel. “what…that’s a joke, right?”

her laughter rings in your ear and you are seconds away from hanging up the call.

“sorry, sorry. i sometimes have a weird sense of humor. you'll get used to it.”

“i doubt it.”

“and i'm hopeful. i'll let you go so you can get ready, i'll be by in under an hour.”

you hang up after a sweet goodbye and gently sit on the toilet. your brain is rushing to catch up after the conversation like your body goes on autopilot when you hear victoria's voice. its terrifying and its thrilling. and you don't know why a part of you likes the feeling.

after you brush your teeth, do some quick skincare, debate over shaving just in case, and spend twenty minutes picking out a cute outfit, you finally hear the gentle knocking on the door while you're double-checking over the content of your purse.

rushing to open the door, you're greeted with the sight of a smiling victoria, her hands tucked into the pants of her clearly expensive pinstriped pantsuit. you're admiring the look of her hair tucked back into a ponytail when she's reaching forward and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"you look perfect. come on, i made us a reservation."

and it turned out to be a perfect night. she did end up taking you to the french place, allowing you to order whatever you wanted. that place was weirdly empty, only a handful of other patrons inside. you were pleased to see that the waitress was french herself, having a small chat about the customs and foods she missed while she praised the authenticity of the food at the restaurant.

only a day and you had already forgotten how forward the people back home could be, because the waitress throws a subtle look at victoria and compliments you on finding such an attractive woman. when she leaves vic just smiles.

“ok, id say at this point we’re doing pretty good with the communication thing, right?” you ask, taking a sip of the pricey wine your date ordered.

“yeah, id say that.”

you finger the rim of your glass, the nerves getting to you before you ask your question. "i want you to tell me what your job is. your actual job, not some vague ass title. you have security following gus around, so i feel like i should know."

"no, no, you're right. i just didnt wanna scare you off. or have you think differently of me once i told you." she sighs, thumbing the napkins on the table. "i work in the government. i'm a congresswoman, to be exact."

you don't doubt she's a politician for a second, because she shows no hint of nervousness at your lack of emotion.

"are you...a good congresswoman?"

"i don't really know how to answer that." she laughs.

"i'm sorry. i knew you were important enough to be at that gala, but a politician is...tricky."

she reaches across the table and lays her hand palm up, smiling when you rest yours on top of it. "look, i get it. i should have told you sooner but please understand why i didn't. i wanted to get to know you as normally as possible, without all of the press and politics in the way."

"normally as possible, huh? that includes sleeping together on the first night?"

you're trying to show your acceptance of the situation with your humor, but you can tell victoria can sense your uneasiness at the situation. here you were thinking you had found some under-the-radar millionaire to dote on you and instead, you'd roped in someone whose job was entirely in the public eye that could be put in danger at the flip of a switch.

"how about we finish up and take this back to my place? i'll tell you everything that you wanna know about me. no matter how personal."

you stare into her eyes for a few seconds and decide that she looks genuine, getting confirmation that her daughter is staying with a friend before ending your meal and following her to her place.

for the amount of money she's ready to spend on you, you're surprised to see that victoria lives in a chic but quaint townhome only a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant. she gently takes off your coat and instructs you to sit with her on the couch, pressing on a remote to turn on her fireplace.

after a few hours and two more glasses of wine, victoria had opened up to you about nearly everything in her life. the mysterious death of her birth family, being adopted by a man who helped pushed her to go into a political career, her polite but loveless marriage with her ex. she even shows you a picture of zoe that she has in her wallet, taking the chance to gush over her daughter. she seems like such a sweet girl.

maybe it's the wine or maybe it's the way vic is opening up to you so freely, but you decide to tell her more about your past. how you always wondered why you barely stuggled moving to another continent at such a young age, or the fact that you dont even remeber why you had the drive to leave your parents home in the first place. you didnt even remember the last words you said to each other.

and throughout it all she's nothing if not attentive, she doesnt ask questions unless you give her permission too, keeping her eyes on you and gently placing her hand over yours.

you feel a turning in your stomach when she moves a stray hand of hair behind your ear. you told yourself to try taking things slow this time, but your body is starting to feel fuzzy and shes looking at you like she wants to devour you.

she decides to indulge you and gently brushes her lips against yours, smiling at the way your breath staggers. your head moves forwards to finaly get her to kiss you but she jerks her head back.

"i want you to tell me what to do."

god, your stomach feels hot. this is new, but a really arousing style of new. the last time you both slept together she had taken a careful but unwavering charge, unraveling you with a steady hand a sweet smile.

"cmon just...please?"

"no. tell me what you want me to do."

you sigh and bite at your lip. "i want you to lay me down and fuck me. right now."

so she laid you down and she did. there were no words to describe how much you enjoyed that night on her couch, the way she could read your body like a book and brought you to ecstasy again and again and again...

and when you wake up a soft blanket is draped over your body, a brekfast of coffee and some crepes set in front of you.

the days after are a whirlwind. discreetly as possible victoria takes you on a tour of new york city, to more expensive restaurants and hidden jewels that most tourists skipped over.

youre lounging in your hotel room when you decide to inform your friends of how your trip is going. while slightly hesitant they seemed more than happy that you were enjoying yourself with someone who took a genuine interest in you.

until you told them her job.

"my love, are you insane? a politician?"

"an american politician?" chloe gasps, continuing off of jamies shock.

"hey, im american too dont forget!"

"of course you are, but please, you understand why this is not good, no?"

"you know how fishy they are, especially with all the supe business going on. that place is getting more dangerous by the day, and i dont think you should be seeing someone whos contirbuting to that."

it pained you to admit it but jamie had a point. the three of you would always laugh in amused horror at how badly things were going on in your birth country, and the politics...it was less than pleasant.

not to mention the supe business. every corner of the world had to deal with the annoyance that was vought and their "products", even france. but so far you'd just had to deal with a few perverted looks from traveling supers and talks of some stupid theme park a few miles out of the city. meanwhile, it seemed like every day a new superhero was being introduced to the American public. it unnerved you.

"i understand. i appreciate both of you looking out for me. trust me, i'll be on my guard for now on." you mumble, picking at the material of your sleeve.

"of course, songbird. we'll call again soon."

the call ends and drop your phone on the nightstand. you look at the eiffel tower cutout in your phone case and your heart aches.

the next morning you're eating a a breakfast of coffee and fruit crepes when your phone rings, dragging your atttention away from the trashy dating show you were watching on the bedroom's tv. when you see nancy's name you hesitantly answer the call.

"nance? is everything alright?"

"everything is great. i'm just here to check in about your next gig."

"my next- nance, im on vacation. please tell you didnt forget and booked me for a job when im across the ocean."

"no, im not that stupid, hon." she sighs. "i didnt even arrange this job, victoria did. im just the messenger."

you blink once. then twice. you remember vic saying something about helping you with a job but you honestly just thought that was bullshit to get her to come stay with you.

(or get in your pants. but you don’t think you’d be too upset about that now.)

“ok. thank you, nancy. tell me the details.”

it’s a lot more extravagant than you expected. victorias friend, an actual senator, was holding a fundraising event for some government program he and vic were both involved in. nancy wasn’t told what the program was, but that you would have to go through a security debrief before being told you'd be given a team to help you prepare. and picking from a selected closet of dresses. fun.

you ignore the feeling of nervousness that’s building up in your gut. because while all of your gigs were important, they were never this important. you push it down as you call victoria and thank her endlessly, when you tell your friends the minimum amount that you can tell them, and when victoria picks you up from outside your hotel twelve hours before the event even starts.

she pressed a small kiss to your hand, laughing at the grumpy and tired mumble you let out when you sit in the car seat. it only passes once she gives you a coffee she picked up, the caffeine waking you up and putting a smile on your face.

the content feeling turns into shock when you enter victorias' place and see zoe, vic throwing a short explanation of “busy babysitter” over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen.

its a bit awkward at first, sitting on one couch as she plays on a black nintendo switch on the other. it helps when you ask her about whatever she’s playing, the girl diving into a rant about the farm game she’s playing and how she’s trying to catch a certain type of fish.

victoria comes back with a tray of breakfast for the three of you before asking her daughter how school is going, how her friends are, etc. its nice to get a glimpse into victories private life during the morning, the close bond she has with her daughter. you notice some tension but decide not to bring it up.

the morning goes by too quickly, zoe being picked up to be dropped off at a friend's house after giving you a sweet goodbye and you getting rushed upstairs as the team comes to the townhome to help you prepare. its a nice change, having other people doll you up instead of having to worry about trying to do everything correctly and by yourself. and its a perk you don't have to spend your own money to do it.

the team members are nice but punctual, finishing your hair and makeup in record time with not a second wasted. you barely get time to notice yourself in the mirror before you're ushered into a gorgeous gown, soft fabrics and a chic and elegant style.

when your finished you’re finally allowed to observe yourself while your transportation and is prepared, and it feels like you’re looking at a dream version of yourself.

as you admire yourself in the mirror vic comes up next to you, clearly enjoying herself as her eyes slowly drift up and down your body.

“you look…ethereal.” she whispers, pressing a small kiss to your cheek after you turn to smile at her.

“only because of you. i don’t know how i could ever make this up to you, vic. this is just…”

“trust me, you’ve already done enough.”

while you knew there would be some press at the event, you didn't expect over two dozen paparazzi to quickly start flashing their cameras in your direction as soon as you got out of your ride. questions about who you were wearing, the relationship you had with vic, etcetera etcetera. you would've buckled from the sudden pressure if it weren't for victoria’s steady hand on your waist, the press of her arm through her red pantsuit.

the venue is downright insane, so grand you start to wonder if you're in one of those gilded age mansions you used to read about in new york magazines. climbing pillars and art on the ceiling of the main hall, which you don't get to admire since you’re yet again whisked away to get ready.

after a few more touch ups you aren’t afforded a minute to prepare, guided to the edge of the performance area. the sinking feeling is back in your stomach. the biggest moment of your life and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

the lights dim and you glide onto the stage, able to see the shadows of the guests faces from the flickering table lights. it’s eerie, the amount of them staring up at you with eyes you can’t even see.

you were given a set list a few days prior, only a couple of songs for the payment you would apparently receive after this. the songs piqued your interest, a collection of classical melancholic pieces from around the fifties. vic told you her friend was a vintage nut, but you didn't know why he chose these for you to perform when the event seemed to have an uplifting aura.

either way it felt…different, singing this time. the spotlight was on you and you’ve never felt as beautiful as you did in this moment. everyone was watching you, so hooked on the melodies escaping your body that you could see the emotions brining some people to the edge of their seats.

you don’t let it show but you grow a bit anxious at the sight of supers in their uniforms in the crowd. you don’t see anyone from the seven, but you do notice a woman you recognized from some commercial about climate change and earth preservation, the green of her dress and the nature motifs in her outfit give you a clue as to what her power was.

just when you feel yourself about to slip, dangerously close to hitting a note at a weird pitch, you see victoria, getting deja vu at the sight of her staring at you from the bar like the first night you met. she's looking at you like she's never doubted you for a second, like you're an angel sent from above that's blessed her life.

you hold her gaze when you sing. noticing the soft smile on her face when you sing a lyric about how the feelings in your heart feel so intense you fear you're going insane.

when the first song ends the lights come back on and you're met with a polite yet thunderous applause, the smile on your face so wide your cheeks start to hurt. the presenter comes back on stage, praising your performance with a swipe at his eyes before telling the guests that the host would be on shortly, and after he gives a short speech you'd be back to sing some more. with a gentle nod and wave, you step off the stage.

you feel like you're walking on air, with no doubt that was one of your best performances yet. your emotions got a little intense there but nothing you couldn't manage, and everyone seemed to like it anyway.

you're able to send a quick text and a picture to jamie and chloe before you hear the sound of the door to your quaint dressing room open, not able to turn around before you feel hands around your waist and plush lips on the side of your neck, the sight of victoria wrapped around you in the mirror making butterflies swarm in your stomach.

"i take it you liked my singing?"

"like doesn't even begin to cover it," she mumbles into your neck, raising her head slightly to be able to hold eye contact through the mirror. "i'm so lucky i found you, y'know that?"

you playfully brush her off, telling her you have to freshen up for some mingling before you get back on stage. she gladly helps you with your makeup, and while you weren't expecting her to be so touchy tonight you definitely aren't complaining, especially when her hand starts to drift closer to the space between your legs. it takes an embarrassing amount of mental strength to deny her, promising you'll continue once you go back to her place.

once you're finished getting ready she leads you back out to the hall, introducing you to numerous business people, politicians, celebrities, etc. you try not to fangirl when you meet a singer whose songs you've been obsessed with lately and when she asks you to perform at her cousins wedding. victoria just smirks when she leads you away and you let out a tiny squeal under your breath.

once the networking is done you're able to take the time to sit down and eat some of the catered food, almost moaning at the tastes of the food. you sometimes forget just how good food could be in the states, and these rich people pulled out all the stops. you try not to eat too quickly or impolitely as victoria talks with her tablemates, some people from her job apparently. after the first introductions and praises they gave you you mentally tapped out of the situation. she luckily covers for you when they question your mood, laughing when she tells them you've had a long day of being treated like a singing barbie doll.

everyone in the room quiets down when the hos taakes the stage and starts his speech. he introduces himself as robert stendham, and you feel a little embarrassed that this man gave you the chance to sing here and you didn't even know his name. you're thinking about how odd it is that you weren't introduced before this when he mentions something about the program and you perk up.

"...extend a personal thank you to general jameson for finding the time to escape his duties to fly in and be here with us tonight, and a special thanks to director neuman for helping me with this project and finding the beautifully talented y/n to perform for us tonight."

there was a brief few seconds of applause, victoria looking around and giving out smiles while you wondered what the hell she was the director of.

"as you can see, we have a few supers with us tonight. people like hazelwood, whose efforts against climate change have lead to over a dozen organizations plating millions of trees and clearing millions of pounds of trash for the ocean. because that's what supers are supposed to do-protect us. not act like degenerates who get to do what they want because of their abilities."

your eyebrow twitches, sensing the slight anti-supe propaganda from the end of his speech. well, not anti every supe, just the ones who act like gods among men, which you could understand. but you still felt an uneasy feeling rising in your stomach. you feel vic's palm rest over the top of your hand under the table.

"which is why im incredibly honored that director and congresswoman neuman has extended a hand to me to invest in the federal bureau of superhuman affairs, and to further extend that hand to you to help participate in this monumental institution..."

everything is a fog and your brain taps out once he starts talking about what this burerua does, how they closely monitor supes and jail the ones who've caused public harm. your head feels hot and your chest feels cold, and you can't stop your body from going on auto-pilot and excusing yourself to the bathroom before finding some balcony on the higher floor.

the cold air of new york shocks your body back into normalcy, but the pounding in your head persists. it feels like a panic attack ut so much worse, like your fight or flight has been activated without anything even happening. had you rushed into all of this? chasing a girl and a dream like you were a teenager again?

yet again the door opens behind you and someone comes to stand next to you, able to tell who it is by the scent of brown sugar and the glimpse of dark hair blowing with the slight breeze.

"you alright? mr. brandon from the tech startup was asking about you, tried to make me invest in some room light plant grower hybrid-"

"why did you bring me here?"

you cut her off and the air is quiet, save for the sounds of cars and the city and the wind. it's weird, standing in a tense silence like this with her.

"how are you feeling?" she whispers .

"are you- " you turn, nearly giving yourself whiplash with the speed at which you turn to look at her. the look on her face, like she's just observing you and how you're reacting. it only upsets you more. "are you being serious?"

"yes, i am. tell me."

"no, answer my question first. why are you avoiding it?"

she sighs, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face before reaching to grab your hand, which you hesitantly let her hold.

"as you heard, im part of a buereau that monitors supherhumans, keeping track of them, making sure they cant use their powers for harm. so far we've only had to deal with supes here in the states. until one day, this couple comes in that believe their daughter has used her powers on them."

she reaches for something in her pocket and your grip tightens. she pulls out a polaroid and holds the picture up for you to see. you feel like you're going to vomit when you see you, smiling, standing with your parents in a backyard.

"what...what is this? how'd you get this?"

"the couple gave me this picture, and told me how weird the least few years have been. friends and family asking where their daughter went, how she was doing, a daughter they didnt even remeber having."

you bring a hand up to your head, hopelessly trying to dissipate the splitting headache that's forming.

"but then they said the memories started coming back. glimpses of a child running in the grass, birthday parties, graduations, talent shows-"

"stop, please just stop." you gasp, hunching over as good as you can with the restrictions of your gown. it doesn't even feel like the world is just spinning, it feels like its being played in some celestial game of pool. "so what, you're saying...you're saying i did that? to my parents?"

"yes," she reaches for the side of your face, guiding you to look up at her. "and you can do so much more. you already have."

this can't be happening.

"why do you think people react so emotionally to your singing? you think its just because you're amazing? that's not even half of it."

your breathing is picking up again.

flashes of memories start appearing in your vision. so many happy times with your parents that you forgot, friends that you left behind. how your parents didn't support your half-thought-out plan to become a singer, how you made them forget. made yourself forget.

"i don't want you to think i did all of this just for what i want. i didn't. i care about you, and i want you to help me. but you need to trust me."

the blood is rushing back and from your head, and you think about how weird her eyes look against the backdrop of the city before you pass out.

finally. FINALLY. ong i wrote like 1k in the past day because i said just get this shit over with but its done! 5 months later! hope you enjoyed :)

[remlionheart]

Can you do a Chuuya x fem reader where her bra can be shown from her white shirt?

pov: you request a simple spicy lil fic from me, but my manic brain is physically incapable of not giving it an entire backstory and plot and making it at least 4k+ words (thank you so much for this idea tho, it was super fun to write! ღ)

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ My first attempt at Chuuya smut (and goddamn, do I love that angry lil man ★~(◡‿◡✿). New to the city, you're coerced into working for the PM after a drunken night out. Scared and now in the heart of one of Japan's most notorious criminal organization's headquarters, you decide to reclaim some of your power by ~*teasing the absolute fuck out of Chuuya Nakahara~*. 4.8k words. Porn with a plot. I can't even lie, this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet while writing, lemme know whatcha think. luv u ღ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When you'd first moved to Yokohama 2 months ago, you had promised your parents that you'd be safe. That you'd find yourself a decent office job to afford you a lofty apartment and that you'd be settled in relatively quickly. You'd pictured yourself walking amongst tall buildings on your days off. Exploring the city with your coworkers on the weekends. Living instead of just existing in your small hometown.

You thought you had your future all mapped out and maybe you did, but those dreams of normalcy were all but destroyed the night you crossed paths with Koyo Ozaki.

She had noticed you from across the bar, quietly observing the way you'd been drinking by yourself all night. It was odd to see a girl with your beauty and lack of abilities so confidently roaming downtown alone. She wasn't sure if you were brave or naive, but the moment you took a seat next to her to thank her for the whiskey and coke she had ordered you, she realized you were the perfect blend of both.

She'd spent the next hour chatting you up, effortlessly coaxing information out of you without you realizing it. She'd offered you an administrative assistant role for the group she worked for, describing it as a "lucrative" and "underground" organization. You were in no position to say no, especially after spending the last month relentlessly applying to jobs with little to no luck.

You woke up the next day musing about silly things like fate and serendipity as you raided your closet for the perfect first day outfit. You felt like this was your big break. The first stop on the roadmap of adulthood that you'd created for yourself. You ironed a pair all black slacks, pairing it with a white-button up quarter-sleeve shirt, and your favorite suede Mary-Janes. Optimism swirled through your head as you eyed yourself in your bedroom mirror that night. You were determined to be so good at this job.

You showed up freshly showered and prepared when you arrived at the sleek, high-rise building. Ozaki waited for you out front with a rather intimidating dark-haired man who introduced himself as Mori, head of the fucking Port Mafia.

Your anxiety rose with each step you took behind them, quickly realizing that this was not the run-of-the-mill clerical job you had envisioned while hazily chatting with Ozaki over whiskey-neats. This was an underground criminal organization full of some of the strongest ability users in the world. You had absolutely no idea why you were here. Why you'd been selected, let alone trusted, to work alongside these people.

You were given your own small office, equipped with a bare desk and landline phone. Mori told you to stay put, explaining that you were to stay out of sight until further notice. You were essentially there as a cover-up.

Apparently, they'd been scouting for girls like you. New to town and completely clueless. They wanted to bring in a handful of these 'administrative assistants' to help keep up the illusion that this was just another ordinary building in the business district of Yokohama and nothing more.

Mori left you with a curt warning about the temperament of the other Mafia members and a haunting, "Welcome to the team." as he closed the door to your office and disappeared down the long corridor. Your heart was slamming into your chest, your anxiety growing the longer you sat. You were angry. Disappointed in yourself for being such an easy target.

You sat for at least an hour staring at the wall in existential dread, wondering what you'd done to end up here. Wondering what you were going to have to do to get out now that you were here. Even if it wasn't necessarily a "job", it still didn't seem like something you could just casually walk away from.

You were in the middle of the Port Mafia's headquarters and you were rightfully, terrified.

The sound of two muffled voices pulled you away from your thoughts while you froze in your chair, realizing that they were right outside your door.

"You're fuckin' with me, right?"

"No, that's really where they're keeping her. She's going to be a fulltime member."

"A member?" it was the first man again, his voice full of shameless snark and volume as he laughed at the idea. "A Mafia member with no ability? C'mon, Akutagawa. Even Mori isn't that stupid."

"There's going to be more, she's just the first to show up."

Tension crept along your spine when both voices came to a curious stop, one quietly scolding the other before the heavy wooden door began to creak open.

A pair of azure eyes stared back at you, disheveled shoulder-length red hair draping off of one shoulder as he mumbled, "Holy shit."

The taller of the two, draped in a long black coat, tried to pry him away, but he shrugged him off with an irritated. "Chill out, I just wanna introduce myself to her."

The dark-haired man scoffed and continued down the hallway while his ginger companion closed the door behind him, leaving just the two of you looking back at each other skeptically.

Despite his height, he had a powerful demeanor. A blend of apathy and cockiness that exuded off of him as he carefully made his way towards you. "So, you're the new girl, huh?"

Your eyebrows furrowed when you looked back at him, your words suddenly stuck in your throat as his foot made contact with your desk.

You managed a nod, remembering the way Mori had advised you not to engage with the other Mafia members, but what were you supposed to do when you were suddenly locked in a room with one?

"God, we really can't just have one normal day around here, can we?" He sighed, almost seeming embarrassed as his shoulders dropped and he leaned against your desk in the spot next to you. "Stealin' girls out of bars? Tch, the hell are they thinkin'?"

His opposition to his boss' plan made you relax a bit. It was the first time all day that you thought you might make it out of here okay.

He picked up on your apprehension rather quickly, taking his hat off and setting it down before extending a gloved hand out to you. "Chuuya." He said simply.

You stared at him for another moment or two before introducing yourself, trying but failing to mimic his nonchalant tone.

"Hey," He said, lightly nudging your foot with his, "You're gonna be alright. I'm sure this gig will only last for a couple of weeks until they move on to their next big, idiotic idea."

"You think so?" It was the first time all day that you felt like you could breathe.

"Trust me, Mori's plans are always changing. He'll probably cut you a fat check for hush money and then send you on your way sooner than later. Just lay low in the meantime, yeah?"

Your eyes were still locked as you nodded at him again, giving him a feeble, "Okay... Yeah, I can do that."

"Good." He smirked, pulling himself away from your desk.

You watched him pause just before exiting the room. He turned around to face you again, his gaze landing a bit lower than your eyes this time.

"And maybe uh -" If you didn't know any better, you'd swear that you saw a flash of red flare across his cheeks. "Maybe don't wear that bra with a white shirt next time."

Out of all of the anxiety and fear that you'd been drowning in over the last few hours, your choice of outfit had been the very last thing you'd considered worrying about until just now.

You looked down, noticing what he meant as you saw the dark, lacy fabric of your Victoria's not-so-secret peeking through the white of your blouse. Your tits were pushed perfectly together, nearly on full display through the sheerness of your shirt.

He flashed you another faint smirk before clicking the door shut, once again leaving you to your own crippling thoughts as your head dropped into your hands.

What an absolutely mortifying first day.

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The next few shifts were a blur.

You'd clock in. Sit for what felt like an eternity in your bleak little office. Leave mid-day to grab lunch at a cafe across the street. And then head home 9 hours later despite the fact that you’d hardly done anything.

You'd learned to bring in books and cross-stich patterns to keep yourself busy throughout the day instead of rotting away at your desk. It wasn't an ideal situation, but if Chuuya was right and there really was a big check waiting for you around the corner, you'd decided that it was worth it to see this through. Because no matter how nervous you got each morning, the painful truth was that you couldn’t afford to turn down easy money.

By the end of the week, you found yourself doing more than just sneaking in romance mangas to make the job more bearable though. You were doing everything you could to gain back even a semblance of power.

If you had to be here, you had decided that you were going to make it everyone's problem.

With the ginger's words still fresh in your mind, you made it a point to wear darker bras. Tighter blouses. Shorter skirts that barely covered your ass. It had almost become an inside joke with yourself at what a distraction you'd become to the Port Mafia. Maybe couldn’t make these men fear you, but you could certainly make them trip all over themselves any time you entered the building.

You'd hardly been able to keep a straight face yesterday afternoon when Akutagawa's coffee fell from his hands and cascaded around him after he saw you walking down the hall in black knee-high stockings. You'd finally managed to make everyone here as uncomfortable as they'd made you and it felt good.

You were half-way through the iced matcha you'd picked up on lunch, sitting with your feet propped up on your desk as you continued to embroider the word "fuck" in pretty, cursive letters next to a pink and yellow flower when a knock arrived at your door.

You quickly stashed the circular cross-stitch pad in one of the desk drawers and straightened your back as Tachihara poked his head into your office. "Yo, new girl. Nakahara wants to see you."

Your brows knitted together as you looked back at him in quiet confusion.

No one had ever requested to see you in the time that you'd been here. Even in your attempts to disrupt their daily tasks, they'd still not bothered to learn your name. But now... you were expected to go see Chuuya... in his office?

"Why?" It was the only question you could think to ask.

"Dunno," Tachihara shrugged. "but I wouldn't keep him waiting. He's kind of an asshole." And with that, you were once again left alone and anxious.

You took a breath, standing up to smooth down the fabric of your skirt before venturing down the hallway.

You did your best to push Tachihara's warning out of your head, reminding yourself of the kindness Chuuya had shown you on your first day while your heels clicked across the marbled floor.

Maybe he wanted to tell you that he'd talked to Mori and that your time with Port Mafia was finally up. Maybe he wanted to hand deliver the check you'd so desperately been waiting for. Maybe he just wanted to see how you were doing. Whatever it was, you were holding onto hope that there wouldn't be any more bad news.

You let out a sharp exhale as you rounded the corner and found yourself standing in front of his office. You gave the door a light tap, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve when he finally appeared.

His eyes traced over you slowly, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he counted not one, not two, but three undone buttons along your blouse that revealed the deep-purple push-up bra decorating your chest.

"Get in here."

His tone was clipped, dripping with what felt like vexation as he closed the door behind you.

His office was much bigger than yours, adorned with high-rise windows that overlooked the city and pristine black marble flooring that matched his leather furniture. The room was dark, just barely lit by a lamp on his desk. You wondered how it was possible for him to get any paperwork done in here but then promptly realized that with his ranking, paperwork was probably far beneath his paygrade.

Still not entirely sure how to approach the situation, you hesitantly took a seat on the over-sized armchair across from his desk.

"Quick question," he said, standing in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, his voice still riddled with irritation. "What does the phrase 'lay low' mean to you? Because I can tell you right now, this ain't fuckin' it."

Your pupils widened, his words hanging heavily in the space between you.

Your mouth opened and then closed again, too focused on the way he was staring at you to form a proper response.

"Is it -" you wavered, mustering up all the courage you had to try and play this off as innocent confusion rather than what it actually was: sarcasm. "Is it my outfit?"

If looks could kill, you would've been 6 feet under.

Chuuya's eyes darkened, a flustered hand rubbing feverishly over his face as he struggled to keep his composure. He wasn't sure if you were trying to piss him off or if you were just genuinely the dumbest girl he'd ever come in contact with.

"Yes," He said with all the restraint he could possibly manage, his teeth nearly grinding together with each syllable. “The outfits are getting out of hand. You've gotta stop."

You were playing a dangerous game, but you were slowly starting to realize that you were... winning.

"What's wrong with them?" you asked, pretending to cover your chest in embarrassment.

You wanted to hear him explain it. Hear him tell you in his own words that you couldn't wear short skirts anymore because it was causing too many unexpected erections around headquarters.

"I -" The poor redhead looked as though he was going to have an aneurysm if you kept this up much longer.

He snapped his eyes shut and let out a frustrated exhale, his hand now bawled into a fist at his side. "Listen, a lot of the guys around here have... noticed you, okay? And I can't take one more day of hearin' those fuckin' assholes talk about how they caught a glimpse of your ass in the break room. Got it? I'll buy you some new clothes if I have to. Just please, no more shirts like this, alright?"

He was actually bargaining with you. Entering the third stage of grief as he tried so hard to keep his cool. To keep his eyes locked with yours and nowhere else. To explain all of this in the nicest way he could.

It was in that moment that you realized where the real source of his trepidation was coming from.

Hearing his coworkers ogle over you was probably annoying for sure, but the more damning, infuriating fact of the matter was that he was ogling over you too. And he was fucking tired of not being able to get any work done when he knew that you were right down the hall. He was pissed that he had to come into his office every morning and lock the door just so he could jerk himself off to the idea of you.

He was in so many words begging you to stop because he wasn't sure how much longer he could take seeing so much of your body without being able bend you over his desk like he did in his mid-morning daydreams.

He was losing - both his resolve and this game at an alarming rate.

"Hmm," you hummed, toying with a pen you'd found wedged between the cushion of his chair. "Well, I'm sorry. I just like feeling pretty before I come in. I didn't know it was creating such a problem for everyone."

The wheels in Chuuya's head were spinning.

Emotions weren't his strong suit and doing these mental gymnastics with you was making him need a cigarette.

"It's -" he sighed, groaning as he forced himself to backpedal. "It's not your fault. I mean, you do look pretty, y'know. It's just... distracting, is all."

It was hard to hide your smirk.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't think he was a bit distracting himself, but he didn't need to know that. Not yet anyway.

"Okay, well," you conceded as you began to stand up. "I’ll wear a turtleneck or something tomorrow then.” You shot him a small smile as you got to your feet, "Promise."

He looked marginally relieved by your understanding. "Sounds good." He huffed, rubbing at the back of his neck while following behind you as you made your way out of his office.

But just before you reached the door, you accidentally dropped the pen you'd been fidgeting with. Bending over without warning so that your ass was right in front of him, peaking out of your skirt as he walked straight into you, his hips suddenly meeting yours.

You thought he might actually kill you this time with the guttural noise of frustration that escaped him.

He grabbed you by your shoulders the second you were upright again, spinning you around so that you were forced to face him.

“Okay, seriously." He said between gritted teeth. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched the unfettered anger flicker through his blue eyes.

It was a stupid move, you knew that before you did it, but you didn't expect it to draw this much of reaction out of him. His restraint was lost. Composure long gone while he waited for you to say something with his face mere inches away from yours.

"Sorry," You lied, "It slipped out of my hand so I -"

"Bullshit." He snarled. "Enough with this innocent act. What do you want out of this, huh? For every guy in Port Mafia to want to fuck you? Is that what you're gettin' at here?"

"No." Your head shook before you even had time to think about what you were about to say. "Not everyone..." Your eyes were still glued to his. "Just you."

You didn't know what you were doing anymore or where all of this recent shamelessness had come from, but there was something about being here that made you feel like you could do anything. Be anyone. You weren't sure if it was the power or the crime or the ungodly amount of money that Port Mafia was raking in, but the collective feeling of chaos that these walls housed was finally latching onto you too.

You didn't even flinch when you said it, instead continued to stare at him unapologetically, noting the way his grip had tightened around your shoulder the longer he looked back at you.

"What?"

If the wheels in his head had been spinning before, they were now fully off the ground, exploding into the air as his gaze drifted along your face. Searching intently to make sure you were actually being serious this time before he went any further.

"You really want me to fuck you that bad?" he asked, the warmth of his mouth now ghosting yours.

The question went straight to your center, wetness seeping between your legs as you nodded back at him.

Truth be told, your midmorning fantasies while cross-stitching the last few days hadn't been much different than his.

The gravity manipulator's fingers were suddenly tangled into your hair, his body forcing your back against the door while his lips collided with yours.

"Y'know you could've just asked instead of doin' all this bratty shit, right?"

His mouth was warm, his movements somehow urgent and careful at the same time as his hands wandered along your curves.

You smiled against his lips, letting out a breathy, "I'm sorry." as his palm began to graze the inside of your thigh.

"No, you're not." He smirked, sucking your bottom lip in between his teeth before biting down with just the right amount of pressure. "But you will be."

You let out a small whimper as he placed his free hand under your chin, moving your head to the side so that he could continue his descendent down your neck.

His leg wedged itself between yours, brushing against your clit while his mouth worked along your collarbone.

You were too lost in the feeling of it all to realize that he'd been leaving a trail of meticulously placed bites down the nape of your neck. Bruises in the shape of his mouth that he knew everyone would see.

"Chuuya -" you tried to protest, but it was more of a moan than an objection. "You - fuck, you can't -" You grinded helplessly against the firmness of his leg. Hips rocking back and forth, desperately trying to gain friction while he kept on nipping away at you.

"What's wrong, babe?" he purred against your sensitive skin. "You're wearin' a turtleneck tomorrow anyway, remember?" his breath fanned across your chest as he ripped the remaining buttons off of your shirt. A gloved hand palming at your chest, sliding your bra down so that your tits were fully exposed for him before you felt his tongue glide across your nipple.

Tachihara was right, he was kind of an asshole. But for some terrible reason, you were living for it. Almost embarrassed by how bad you wanted him. Wriggling against him and riding his leg. Whining while you let him leave visible marks on you and destroy the only clothing you had.

"C'mere." He pulled his head away from your chest, swiftly grabbing you by the arm and leading you back to his desk. He picked you up with ease, shoving a binder aside to sit you down in front of him.

"Spread your legs for me." His voice was heady, eyes glossed over with lust as you complied with his demands.

He held his hand up to his mouth, removing his black glove with his teeth before pushing your skirt up and sliding your underwear to the side. He bent over slightly, running two rough fingers along your clit as he watched your nails dig into the edge of his desk.

"Fuck," he groaned, still not taking his eyes off of you. He'd barely done anything and you were already soaked, your pussy practically throbbing for him. “You really do want me that bad, huh?"

“T - told you.” You whimpered, your head tilting back as he drew slow, blissful circles around you.

He kept up the same pace, basking in the way you were so easily falling apart for him.

“Chuuya, please.”

A smirk tugged viciously at the corner of his mouth, slipping a finger into you this time as your walls swallowed him. "Please what, baby?"

You may have had him in the first half, but you were now on the losing end of this game. Forgetting how to speak altogether as you watched him part your legs even further, bending all the way down to rest his head between your thighs.

You moaned at the feeling of his tongue pressing against you. The heavenly lines he was drawing uppp and downnn your center with his middle finger still sliding in and out of you. He was generous in the way he handled you, making sure he didn't miss a single spot. Lapping and slurping up every bit of cum he could as he added in another finger. Groaning against you the louder you got for him.

The only word you seemed to be able to remember was his name, repeating it over and over while your nails lodged deeper into his mahogany desk and your body shamelessly grinded against the warmth of his mouth.

You were in a delirious daze, losing yourself completely to the way he was devouring you.

He could feel you getting close too, noting the frantic rhythm of your hips. The gorgeous, fucked-out noises you were making for him. The death grip your walls suddenly had on him. He knew you were right there, right where he wanted you.

"Chuuya, 'm - I -"

Your legs were locking around his head, shaking uncontrollably as your hand ran through his hair.

He'd never admit it, but he almost could've came at the sounds you were making alone. The pouty way that you called out his name each time his fingers plunged into you was almost enough to drive him over the edge. You were so pathetic and adorable and he was determined to make everyone in Port Mafia hear just how needy you were for him.

As much as he wanted to edge you for what you'd done to him, as much as he wanted to make you beg and plead for him to let you cum, he couldn't fucking pull himself away from you. He was just as lost as you were, drowning in your cunt and not at all wanting to be saved.

His tongue didn’t leave you until he was absolutely sure that you'd ridden out every last wave of your orgasm, still pumping his digits in and out of you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

He came up for air with an exhausted smile, wordlessly coaxing your lips apart with his thumb before bringing the two fingers he had fucked you with into your mouth. Letting you clean off the blend of slick and salvia the two of you had created together.

"See how fucking good you taste?" he panted. "I think this is gonna be a real problem for both of us."

An enamored shade of pink brushed across your cheeks as he dropped down onto the chair across from you, running a tired hand through his hair.

"At least I won't be here much longer, right?" You said, playfully kicking his leg with your foot.

"Oh yeah," he smirked. "That actually reminds me..." Your eyes widened as he shifted around to dig an envelope out of his pocket. "Mori wanted me to give this to you."

Your hands trembled, opening it as delicately as you could to make sure you didn't rip anything when a check for 1,490,200 yen fell into your lap.

"Think that'll be enough to buy yourself a shirt that fits?"

Your eyes snapped towards him in disbelief, your pulse ringing through your ears as you tried to process that you'd somehow made this amount of money in a little over a week.

"Is this -" You stammered, thinking back to what he had told you when you first met. "Is this like a severance check then? ...Hush money or whatever?"

"Tragically, no. Mori wants you to stay."

Your hand instinctively flew up to your neck, covering the love-bites that the redhead had left you with, horrified at the realization that everyone was going to see them. Even more horrified at the fact that they had probably heard how you’d gotten them.

"What?"

"Yeah, he said somethin' about you how you've been 'boosting the morale' around here."

Your head felt like it was going to explode.

You had not only been marked by Chuuya Nakahara, but you were now being asked to stay in Port Mafia.

You couldn't decide which was worse.

"So... that means..."

"Yep. We'll be seein' a lot more of each other." He confirmed while checking his watch. "But hey, you better get outta here, Rando and I have a meeting in 10 minutes."

You looked down at your lack of clothing, the spit and cum that was still stuck to your skirt, the obscenely noticeable bruises that he'd so proudly gifted you with.

"Give me your shirt." you demanded.

"Nah."

The grin he shot you was so cocky, so vile, so... hot.

"Chuuya." You whisper-shouted, biting back your own stupid smile. "Be so fucking for real right now, I can’t go out there like this.”

“Shoulda thought about that before you put on that skimpy-ass outfit I guess.” He shrugged.

You hopped off his desk, straddling him in his chair as you forcefully began to undo the buttons along his collar.

The room filled with suppressed laughter, neither one of you able to contain it anymore as he finally conceded, wrestling you off of him. "Alright, alright, chill. I have extras in here, hang on."

You both stood up, your eyes locked on him while he walked over to an expensive looking armoire in the corner of the room.

He pulled a white shirt that resembled the one you were wearing earlier off of a hanger and brought it over to you, guiding your arms up so that he could put it on.

His movements were calculated, almost thoughtful as he dressed you, adjusting it so that it covered up most of the damage he'd done.

"There." He said, double-checking his work. "Now get out of here before I decide to rip that one off of you too.”

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˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Part 2! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[pixiesfz]

this isnt really a request with an idea but please more jessie 😭🙏

Killing two birds with one stone I am here, I got a request for a jersey swap fic so here we go!

jersey swap? j.f

plot: you and Jessie have always had on field tension but one game when you ask to swap jerseys, she finally makes a move.

warning: smut, obviously I like writing a dom Jessie 🤫. Let’s pretend Sam wasn’t injured for the Canada vs australia match, bi-sexual reader! (Taking inspo from this one tik tok I saw about Lia Walti which made me cackle)

Some matches were more interesting than others you had realised in your second year in of playing at arsenal wether it was against Chelsea or you were playing with the Matilda’s for your national teams.

Nothing had changed within the games except for the fans, since the World Cup people started to know your name and your whole life story but what they loved most of all was seeing you on the pitch with Jessie.

Wether it was Chelsea vs Arsenal or Australia bs Canada the fans loved watching your interactions and your team mates did to.

It was your Australian captain who always whispered jokes into your ear that took the most pleasure out of the two of you.

“I love Canada” you admitted as your team sat on the ferry “why it’s cold” Hayley shivered from behind you “but it’s just so cozy” you smiled as you cuddled into yourself.

“Is that why your always tackling Jessie, cause she’s cozy” Sam teased as she shook your shoulders “no” you said “I tackle her cause she’s good and she’s too nice to tackle me back” you said with a small smile and Sam and Hayley laughed.

“No but seriously what is it between you two whenever you play” Mary asked as she came over “Oh my little Mary, my young prodigy” you started and she rolled her eyes

“Y/n seriously I want to know, I’m also not that young I’m three years younger than you”

“Exactly you’re an infant”

You smirked but gave her an option to lean onto your should “I’m actually not sure how we started it” you admitted “we both had our debuts for Chelsea and Arsenal on the same day and were put on each other we both wanted to make an impact I guess”

“You made an impact all right, two yellow cards” Sam laughed “You’ve had this tension ever since, even when you were dating that Tom guy” she said.

You hid your head as you looked down remembering why the relationship failed, you couldn’t admit you were not sexually attracted to Jessie and he left, funny since later you had found out he had cheated on you with a girl who had been on 2 episodes of love island.

“Yeah well I’m not dating him anymore so” you trailed off and the three girls nodded “Do you think the tension will ever ease off?” Mary asked and Hayley laughed “I think once they finally sleep together-“

“Hayley!” You scolded her “what?” She shrugged “it’s true, even the fans can see it” she defended herself as you scoffed “do you even remember the World Cup!?” she practically now yelled

“Both of your hands were practically around each other when you were on the ball” she said and you laughed “sorry if I just wanted to get possession of the ball so we could score goals”

“We pass with our feet not our hands y/n/n” Mary said and you closed her mouth “hush little one” you said quickly and she shook her head out of your grasp.

“Admit to me you’re not sexually attracted to Jessie Fleming”

“I’m not attracted to Jessie Fleming”

“Now I thought your New Year’s resolution was to stop lying” Sam stepped in and you threw your head back “No you know what I’m going to be nice” you said

“At the game I’m going to ask to switch jerseys as an act of kindness” you smiled and Hayley rolled her eyes “that’s not what I would do” she warned and you shook your head

“Trust me it will work, we will be best friends by the time you know it”

“So you won’t mark her on the pitch?” Sam asked

“Do you want us to lose Samantha?” you shot back and she laughed “anyways” you said standing up “I see Mini standing alone so I’m gonna make sure Kyra hasn’t accidentally fallen off the ferry and drowned”

You ended up finding the girl in the captains area with a bawl of lollies in her hand.

“Don’t tell Katrina”

When you finally made your way to the stadium later the next day you grimaced at the floor “fake grass” you groaned and Polks laughed at you “not a laughing matter” you said and walked into the rooms.

You felt the stadium grow as Canadian watches and a few lucky Australian fans made their way into their seats.

You were tying up your boots when you felt a presence behind you “hey skipper” you laughed as Sam sat next to you “I just wanna say no reds” she said “I know they’re out for blood since World Cup okay and I don’t want a pissy Jessie coming back to Chelsea”

“No reds got it, what about a yellow?” You asked with a cheeky smile “I’ll allow one” she said and you acted like a two year old who got told they can get ice cream.

You both laughed and Sam pushed you out “cmon idiot”.

In the line up, you were out the front behind Ellie when you felt eyes burning into your head, you knew it was Jessie so when you turned around and saw her you just smirked which made her roll her eyes and look back at her team.

“Cheeky” Hayley said from behind you and you just shrugged your shoulders.

You went to your mark on the field where Jessie was as she looked concentrated “stop frowning Jessie it will give your face lines” you told her and she looked back at you “are you talking from experience or?” She questioned as she looked at your forehead and you laughed.

“Let’s just play for now okay and then you can think about my facial features later”

The game wasn’t different than usual, you and Jessie were on each other hot, whenever one of you had the ball the other was quick to try and get you down or stop you from a long kick.

You were a bit more touchier with the legs though as One time you nut-megged her own ball through her feet “come on” she complained as she was to far behind you to stop your assist to Sam’s goal.

You turned to Jessie “you know I can take a tackle Fleming” you teased and she crossed your head at you “Just play the game y/l/n” she said and you smirked from next to her “I seem to be the only person who is”.

Jessie was rough after that, she knew she couldn’t let you get away with anything else, so next time you had the ball she was quick to kick out from under your ankle as you hit the ground, accidentally taking her down with you, automatically you turned over on top of Jessie and you watched the ref walk over to you and the Canadian.

You looked down at the brunette who was still on the floor “did I get into your head?” You whispered before sitting up and reaching your hand out for Jessie to use but she got up herself causing you to roll your eyes and shrug it off.

The red pulled out a yellow for Jessie who shook her head “Still winning” she reminded you with a smirk and you smirked back “ooh she’s coming out of her shell”.

When the game finally finished and Canada came on top you shook all the players hands, lingering on Jessie’s before you joined some of the girls on a lap.

You saw a sign that made you laugh

Australia vs Canada

Nah.

Fleming vs y/l/n!

You smiled as you looked for Jessie and found her with her captain who was having her send off.

“Fleming!” You called out to her and she turned around with furrowed brows “what?” she asked and you smirked “come look at this” you said and turned your head back.

She followed you to the sign and also chucked a smile at it as people quickly grabbed their phones to take pictures of the two of you smiling at the sign as you laughed at each other.

You saw Hayley looking at you with a knowing look in the corner of your eyes before you remembered “Wait Jess” you said before she left, not realising the nick name you let out “yeah” she said “I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to swap Jerseys, last game after all before we face each other off in Olympic hopefully” you asked and Jessie’s cheeks blushed “yeah sure, need some more in my collection honestly”

Your heart raced as you saw the Canadian take off her top, you secretly took a look at her abs as she did so, you don’t know why you waited until she took hers completely off before you took yours off until you hear a whistle from the crowd you laughed and took yours off.

Jessie’s blush grew as she took no shame in staring at your body and your waist.

“Nice tattoo” she muttered as you held your shirt out for her, looking down you looked at your flower tattoo under your sports bra “thanks got it for my mum” you smiled and she gave you hers.

“Ready for the photos” you smirked and she nodded.

When you put them on you heard some fans scream out and you both turned around, you in front of Jessie as she saw her name on your back.

She lingered before stepping next to you and you smiled for some photos before a professional photographer came and you smiled again, one photo where Jessie was looking at you.

You both parted ways after as Jessie kept her eyes on you, pupils diluted as Sam went up to her “good game” she said and Jessie kept her eyes glued onto you and your back.

“She’s staying at the Grand Heir Hotel” she smirked before smacking her Chelsea team mate on the back and walking off with a smile.

You got some shit from the team when you walked in with Jessie’s shirt on, especially from your Arsenal team mates who were whisper shouting.

Sam walked over to you where your cheeks were blushing “I may have told Jessie where your staying” she admitted and you widened your eyes “why?” You asked and she shrugged her shoulders “just cause” she said and walked away.

“Samantha!” You called but she walked away.

You couldn’t help the smile that crossed your face as you turned back to your cubby.

You had showered when you got home and hanged Jessie’s shirt up in the open wardrobe so you could still see it as you lied on your bed.

It was about 10:00 when a knock on your door started. Furrowing your brows you got up and opened it to see a slightly puffed out Jessie Fleming.

“Do you know how hard it was to figure out which room was yours?” She asked out of breath “I’m sorry?” You replied and she nodded “you should be” she said as she made her way in.

“Jessie-“ “call me Jess” she cut you off “what?” You asked and she nodded “I liked it” she said “when you called me Jess”

You smiled “okay Jess” you repeated “what are you doing here?” You asked and she looked around until she found her shirt in your wardrobe and grabbed it and threw it to you “put it back on” she said as she stepped closer to you “excuse me?” You asked and she repeated again.

“Jess I’m in my pajamas I don’t have a bra on” you admitted and she smirked “put it on” she repeated and you grew hot.

fuck she looked hot right now, you thought to yourself as she looked down at you.

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me” she whispered into your ear and you tried not to shudder at her words. “Do it for me” you whispered back as you looked into her hungry eyes, her pupils were dilated and you were sure yours were too.

Jessie gripped the edge of your white T-shirt before grazing her fingers underneath and hitting your bare skin but she kept eye contact.

“I want you to know that I’m going to fuck you, giving me that yellow today and egging me on, I’m not letting that pass today” she said as she grabbed your waist under your top and pulled you closer to her so that your lips were practically touching.

The feeling in between your legs was aching, you needed her.

“Take off my top Fleming” you told her before you stepped back, getting bing her room.

She smirked before grabbing the ends of your shirt and pulling it over your head, looking at your boobs before lightly pressing on them them “you’re beautiful” she said as she kissed on them, leaning your head back you groaned and she tugged on your nipple.

“No noise until my name is on your back” she ordered and you nodded “so loud on the pitch but I can make you silent with just one touch” she cooed and you closed your eyes out of pleasure, trying to not make any noise.

When Jessie pulled your arms up and slipped her jersey over your head you bit your lip and looked down at the jersey.

“Did you know I’d react like this? She taunted as she planted kissed on your neck “Did you know that I’d want to fuck your smirk out of you” she planted more “Did you know that sitting on top of me in the middle of the game would make want to kiss you right then and there” she taunted as she sucked on your skin, marking you.

“Jessie” you muttered out in pleasure as she walked you to the bed and through you on the mattress. You were so wet you didn’t know if she could see it through your grey tracksuit pants or not.

“We’re keeping to top on” she said as she leaned over the op of you and finally brought her lips to yours and kissed you, you let her take dominance of the kiss as her hands roamed your body until they reached your pants.

She looked at you for permission and you nodded “I need your words y/n” she said and you looked at her “yes”

“yes what?” Jessie taunted and you squirmed under her touch as she traveled her hand from your waist and teasingly down your pants without touching your pussy which you craved.

“yes please fuck me with your finger, mouth anything” you groaned out and Jessie smirked.

She returned her lips to yours before she grabbed the edge of your pants and slid them down, her moth following her as she kept them on you, trailing kisses along the jersey and until she hit your undies.

“Lace” she smiled “did you know I was coming?” She asked “I may have gotten a hint” you admitted and Jessie moved her hands up to squeeze your butt as she jerked your body up towards her,

“My favourite colour is blue” she fainted as she played with your blue lace underwear “too bad I have to take them off” she said as she blew on to your pussy and you moaned.

You were pulsing, searching for any friction.

Jessie slowly pulled your underwear down before she spread your legs apart and slid a finger through your folds.

“So wet, just for me” she said before leaning in and pressing her tongue through you, making you throw your head back and your back arch which she responded with putting her hand on your stomach and pushing you down so you couldn’t move.

She kept on going until you started moaning her name “Jessie- Jessie fuck keep going” you whimpered as she shot her head up, her chin covered in your juices.

“Turn around” she ordered and you did and she walked away “Jess” you nurtured and she walked back up to you “I’m not leaving don’t worry” she assured you and pressed her lips into yours as you tasted yourself.

She walked away as you heard her rummage through her bag she brought with her, you smiled to yourself as you saw the glimpse of the strap she held in her hands before stepping into it.

“Who’s name is on your back?” She asked you, her voice darker than usual “yours” you muttered out before she tapped your entrance with her cock “but louder than that baby, who’s name is on your back?” She asked again

“Yours” you moaned out louder and she slapped your ass making you whimper “exactly” she said before pushing in to your entrance.

“Fuck Jessie” you screamed out her name as she grew her paste wuick almost giving you no time to adjust.

“New question” she said as she moaned, the strap rubbing against her clit as she thrusted into you.

“Who’s cock is going to make you cum?” She asked as she somehow went quicker making you moan out in pleasure, your hair was up in a pony tail so she grabbed on to the end of your hair and pulled you back so your face was reaching the roof.

“That wasn’t an answer” she said and you closed your eyes “Yours Jessie, your cock” you whimpered out and she let go of your hair.

“You going to come with me” she demanded and you nodded “make me cum” you whined and she went in Harder and pressed you down more into the mattress.

It wasn’t long until you felt a coil in your stomach “Oh fuck, I’m bout to come” you repeated and you heard Jessie’s whimpers “me too, come with me” she said and you both let out moans as you came together and rides out your highs together.

You both stayed there until Jessie slowly pulled out and slowly rubbed her fingers over her last name on your back.

She then helped you go on your back as she leaned down and kissed you softly.

“Can we do that again?”

[jointherebellion215]

Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly. 

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?” 

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands. 

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.”  You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.” 

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely. 

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her. 

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her. 

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd. 

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you. 

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile…. 

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.” 

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over. 

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love” 

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base. 

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred. 

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

[billvsgirl]

the songbird : part one

summary ; reader is a beloved, headstrong singer at a saloon in new mexico. billy is just looking for somewhere to play some poker. it’s a match made in heaven.

warnings ; some heavy insinuation (only above the cut) but aside from that, none yet 👀 i dont know if you can classify this as a slow burn but it is for me because my writing stamina is weak as hell 😇 also i might have accidentally mary sue’d reader but thats my issue

also not beta read (im lazy)

author’s note ; HIII to anyone who’s reading this, i’m sorry in advance, this is my first time writing in a very long while so forgive me. if you have any comments or suggestions please let me know 🙏 i thank @goosita and @billysgun for inspiring me to write for billy (y’all always eat thank you for supplying me with the best billy fics) pls let me know if y’all wanna see more of this series and i’m open to requests !!! okay thats all tyty

—

billy pulled the door closed behind himself ever so carefully, making sure not to alert anyone else who might still be awake in the boarding house.

he turned towards the room to look at you; waiting infront of him expectantly- yet still a bit nervous, akin to a tense game of cards. it was his move now.

you leaned into his touch as he brought a hand up to caress your cheek, stroking gently with his thumb. “my beautiful girl,” he spoke softly, quirking the corners of his lips up into a smile.

“are you sure you’re alright with this, darlin’? we don’t have to.”

but oh, how you so desperately wanted to. because it was him, because it was billy.

-

he had wandered into your life by chance; a raggedy stray appearing in a saloon on a friday night, just looking to make some cash off of a game of poker.

you were there, too, hidden behind a humble stage curtain. you dusted some lint off of your dress and cleared your throat before donning your guitar and revealing yourself to the bar patrons with a confident, nearly sanguine smile.

“why hello there, everyone! d’ya miss me?”

and you had the instant attention of the majority of the tired souls in the saloon, ears and eyes becoming alert. if there weren’t smiles, there were whistles, cheers, claps- and other things inbetween.

there was no argument amongst the patrons that you were special. you held a strong and awfully charismatic persona when you were up on that stage, performing each weekend. when you had first started singing publicly, give or take a year or so ago, it took time for the people there to pay mind to you- but there was only so much they could do before your cadence, your charm, drew them in. and now, the townsfolk always looked forward to your appearances.

“oh please, don’t flatter me! it’ll all go to my head. how’s ‘bout we get to some songs instead, boys?”

a bit of soft laughter could be heard, dispersed throughout the room, before some more scattered claps- and a low chatter returned within the building while you propped yourself onto the stool at the center of the platform.

“learned this one from my father- i hope y’all enjoy it, an’ feel free to sing along if ya’ know it too.”

you began to strum, and the noise in the room lowered at your command. if anyone wasn’t paying attention before, they were now.

“O bury me not,”

and the raggedy stray finally looked up from his hand of cards, sapphire blue eyes taking in your beauty for the first time.

“on the lone prarie.”

your voice was amber honey flowing over a silver spoon, it was devistatingly sweet on the tongue, and all the more addicting. even the most haughty cowboys couldn’t help but lend an ear to you.

“these words came low, and mournfully

from the pallid lips of the youth who lay

on his dying bed at the close of day.”

of course, it didn’t hurt the fact that you were pretty. anyone would agree. but the men there stopped bothering you with crude requests and comments a long time ago- you’d established that it wouldn’t be tolerated, that you weren’t some woman of the night who’d play into the egos of these dogs who assumed they were above everyone else. and what were they to do?

nevertheless, you were alluring. you had a voice that charmed snakes and tempted songbirds to whistle along. so, eventually, they left you be. and that was the way it was.

“he had wasted and pined ‘til o’er his brow,

death’s shades were slowly gathering now

he thought of home and loved ones nigh

as the cowboys gathered to see him die.”

some of the patrons softly sang along to that folk song, including the one that sat a bit further from the stage, who had laid his cards aside later than the others.

he wasn’t fully aware of the small smile etched across face, but he was aware of the way your dress draped gracefully over your legs, the way your hair flowed freely upon your head, the way your eyelashes batted against your skin each time you blinked, the way your hands held your guitar.

he was well aware that he had not seen a lady like you before.

and well after you finished your set, and you had taken time to sit down at the bar and thank the bartender for your drink, he found it in himself to approach you.

and if you were a bit apprehensive, he took mind of that, and kept a small distance whilst lowering his hat from his head.

“hello, ma’am, how are you doin’ tonight?”

you couldn’t help but soften your hardened expression just a bit at the sight of him; eyes that bore right into your heart and pleaded innocence, even though you had heard the chatter throughout the bar that night;

that he had accumulated bounties, that he was a force not to be reckoned with,

that he was ‘dangerous.’

“quite alright, thank ya’, can i help you, cowboy?”

you were curious, but you weren’t downright stupid. you’d certainly dealt with worse, and the demeanor of this man begged that he had no distasteful intentions, but there was further convincing to be done for your guard to come down.

“i just wanted to say- you’ve got a real beautiful voice. it was a nice treat after the day i’ve had, ma’am.”

his voice was soft, and he carried himself well, though you could hear notes of nervousness in the way his breath hitched slightly halfway through his speech. you tilted your head a bit, furrowing your brows.

“you’re william bonney, isn’t that right?”

he shifted his stance, breaking eye contact to look down towards the hat he held in his hands. he cleared his throat and looked back up at you with a coy smile.

“yes’m, so you’ve heard- i’ve heard em’ talkin’ about you too, albeit, for much nicer reasons, miss y/n y/l/n.”

and if the way your name rolled off of his tongue made your cheeks a couple of shades pinker than usual, that was your business and nobody else’s.

he was good looking, that couldn’t be denied. good looking in the kind of way that carried much more depth than anyone you’d seen before. good looking in the way of his strikingly blue eyes, his brown hair that curled up at the ends, the button up shirt and pants that complimented his figure perfectly, his strong, yet softened, demeanor.

“so, s’it true? what they say about you?”

“depends what they’re sayin’, ma’am. maybe, maybe not.”

“well, are you as dangerous as they say you are?”

“only when i need to be, ma’am.”

he was definitely a gentleman- that, or he was putting up a real good act. it wasn’t often that you were approached out of genuine, unsolicited interest. but william- who now insisted you instead call him billy, went silent each time you even looked like you wanted to say something.

and on the two of you went, having conversation through the rest of the night. he didn’t let on about a lot of things, he’d gotten used to being a man of few words. he wanted to know everything about you- as much as you were comfortable saying. and to his delight, you had lots to say.

the both of you were a few drinks in by the time you were sat side by side, filling the near empty saloon with laughter.

“and- and then what?” his smile was sickeningly wide.

“well, my mama always told me i should never let a man use me as a doormat, so i grabbed my saddlebag an’ swatted him right in the groin!”

billy chuckled lightly, imagining that scenario before taking another sip of his whiskey.

“serves ‘m right, the men here know less a’ how to treat women than they do knowin’ when’s appropriate to draw a gun.” he huffed out.

you set your elbow on the counter, resting your head on your hand. “i bet your mama’s real proud a’ you, billy. she raised you just as anyone should.”

he held his smile for just a second before moving to look down at his glass. he remained silent for a few moments, and you followed suit, understanding why.

“m’ sorry, i didn’t know-“

“no, it’s alright,” he looked up at you, offering a smile once again. “i hope that she is. i’m always just trying my best to do what’s right- what’s just. sometimes the law doesn’t wanna paint it that way, but i know what i’ve seen and done.”

and you trusted his word. you had let your guard down like this for the first time possibly ever with anyone who wasn’t family. you and this raggedy stray were both different birds, flying far from the flock. having his company was something new, something exciting. and you hungered to know more.

[mayasaurusss]

haii I can request modern lottie headcanos ?

Shy: modern jock Lottie

Warnings: Jock (but also nerdy?) Lottie, Lottie is a loser-virgin, use of every single cliche in the book, for the sake of the story let's pretend they have this instant chemistry moment, fluff fic, humorous writing, not proof read, the author regrets begin born.

A/N: hey anon, remeber when I said I had an idea and wanted to make this a oneshot instead of a headcanon? Well, I completley forgot my idea and this brewed in my head last minute, so I tried to put this thing thogeter. This story isn't very good but I hope you will like it!

Lottie is one of the most popular girls in school. She is on the soccer team, she is rich and she is beautiful, men and women alike fall to their feets for her attention. She simply has to get to the top of everything, whether it is school or soccer, making the ones around her jealous of her or to be her. Lottie is tough, both in body and spirit: during practice she manages to get going for hours, even when her teammates are tired. During exams, she remembers almost everything she studied and only a few times she has failed, due to laziness and too much faith in her abilities. She has told herself to never slack off ever again and so she continues practicing after school in her backyard, no matter if it's freezing or raining or just a bad day, she pushes her body to the limit almost every day. She studies hours on hours on hours, just after her endless practice, till midnight; sometimes she consumes her dinner while studying for her next exam. Lottie has virtually no time for herself anymore, but she knows it's her fault. She knows that she does this to appease her father's wishes for her life and that she will never make him proud. She tells herself that she's ok, that she can continue doing this without repercussions.

She is on fire today, she has just passed one of the most difficult tests of the year without breaking a sweat attracting to herself the envy of various people -and Natalie's-, had successfully exposed a presentation in class -"How cults can change people psyche", by Lottie Matthews-, and now is practicing, having just scored a goal after being chased by Taissa and making her repeatedly taking her to the ground. Lottie is triumphant, sweat coating her skin and a smile gracing her lips, the same smile that made people develop crushes for her. "Ok team, I want you to try and score a goal, Lottie, Taissa and Van, you guys try to stop them, ok?" Coach Ben says.

Lottie moves to her place near Taissa, ignoring the looks the girl gives her, Van behind the, waiting for the ball. When the coach blows the whistle, the teams move: Shauna passes the ball to Mari, in a fake attempted attack from right, trying to get past Taissa, the ball is passed to Laura Lee who has already run across the field enough to not be worried about Taissa. The only obstacles left between her and the goal are Lottie and Van. The latter won't be a problem, when Laura will kick the ball from the underside angle, sending it to the far corner of the net; the real problem is Lottie. The girl is tall and strong enough to turn the situation to her favor and virtually leave Laura's and the rest of the team empty handed. And, to top it all off, she's on fire today. So, Laura Lee devises a plan: as soon as Lottie will corner her, she will fall back and kick the ball as high as she can, attempting to send it through the net. Lottie will not budge, she thinks, -"She is too smart to fall for this..."- but she will at least attempt to try.

Lottie has stayed still until now, determined to be the one to stop her teammates. Her muscles tighten, ready to strike, until her attention is on someone else, someone on the seats.

There are quite a few people here besides you and your friends. They had invited you to watch the Yellowjackets practice, more in particular to watch the Yellowjackets practice. You have sat in the nearest line to the field, wanting to crawl out of your seat whenever one of your friends made a loud remark about one of the girls. "Like, oh my God look at Natalie '' Hayley sighs dreamily, "I want to make sexy pottery with her '' Jessica scoffs at her "Say what you want about Natalie. Have you looked at coach Ben? He is so hot!" she says while twirling a strand of her hair. "I think he's gay Jessica..." she gasps "How would you know? The other day I saw him handing to Travis a bunch of condoms, he must like girls!", "That's not how it works Jessica..." you argue with her "Shut up," she scoffs at you. You turn your head away from her to avoid her anger, looking towards the field as you see number seven -Lottie, that must be her name- moving in position to defend the net. "...and how would you know? Your life is so boring, you never even had a relationship yet!"eyes scanning her face up and down, you look at Jessica ``I haven't but at least I don't drool for every human beginning in school" you remark at her, earning a glare that could kill.

"Shut up! Stupid asshole..." your eyes return to the soccer field, now focused back on the players: you see Lottie staring at you, her eyes never leaving yours even for a split second, you and your friends must've been loud for her attention to be on anything else other than practice. Neither you or her break eye contact, both in an almost hypnotic state, so, neither you or her notice Laura Lee screaming out for her teammate.

The second Lottie refocuses back on the game, the ball hits her face at full speed; Lottie stumbles back holding her nose, blood flowing freely from it, she loses her footing and falls on the ground. "Fuuuck!'' The team rushes to their friend, Laura Lee is profusely apologizing while trying to hold her best friend who isn't in the right mood to be manhandled. Coach Ben kneels next to Lottie and inspects her face: on the bridge of the nose, right where the ball has hit her, Lottie has a small red bump and her nose seems to be slightly pushed to the left side. "We need to take the infirmary..." he states and helps Lottie up, before Misty can get her hands on her classmate's face and cause more damage. She walks back with Ben with shame, and when she looks back to see you worried over her, she can't bring herself to look at you.

At the infirmary, she gets a pack of cold ice and after one hour, the nurse, a middle aged old woman who looks like she's done with life, walks over to her and takes away the ice pack. Her hands move and test around Lottie's nose, manhandling her -she looks like a small scared child-. "Take a deep breath with your mouth...", she's confused as hell but does so, feeling the nurse's hands move again on her nose, "...and don't panic". -What?- the nurse's fingers block her nose and push strongly to the right side, readjusting the bone. Lottie lets out a banshee-like scream "Fuck me!" and she hold her face, muffling her scream in her hands, "Don't move too much or you could crook it again". Her fingers move across the nose skin, it definitely hurts but now she can breathe again: the nose still has a small red bump at the middle of its length. "Yeah, that's not going away", the nurse says while arranging some things in a box, "What?".

Her father had wanted to sue both the nurse and Laura Lee's family as soon as he saw how his daughter's nose looked, but with some convincing, Lottie had managed to make his anger drop. Today, some time after the whole fiasco, Shauna has come to pick her up for school, usually she would use her father's limo but today she felt like beginning with a friend -and exploiting her a bit- than with the old decrepit driver her father hired. As soon as she enter Shauna's car, the other girl lets out a small pained hiss at Lottie's nose. "...Is it that noticeable...?", Shauna let's out a small hum and moves uncomfortably under Lottie's dark gaze. "I mean... I see it because I was there, but it's not tha-" Shauna is interrupted by Lottie's frustrated sigh and cries. "God! This is just what I needed..." she mutters into her hand, Shauna drops her hand on her friend's shoulder "Come on...It's not that bad, no one will notice". Lottie moves to look at Shauna, her eyes are tearful, "That's literally the first thing you noticed about me today". A gulp travels down Shauna's throat "Uhm..." the taller girl looks her dead in the eyes "This is the part where you, as a friend, would comfort me". The car engine starts, Shauna lets out a embarassed cough while she starts to move the car "...Let's go".

"Ouch..." Taissa says to her while munching her sandwich, the whole soccer team is in the cafeteria for lunch, Lottie had been the last one to join the team 'cause her classes ended later, of course that would involve her not-so-glorious entrance in the room, where everyone had looked at her weird or with pity. "Laura Lee hasn't come today...She's feeling pretty guilty for what she's done. I think this will stay inside her little fanatic brain for a while" Taissa laughs while exchanging a kiss with Van, "And she's right. If I were you, Lottie, I would have punched her in the face ages ago" Natalie barges in the conversation. "Changing topic, tonight there's a party. At Randy's' ' the blonde girl mutters while focused on rolling something that Lottie is pretty sure isn't a normal cig, "I don't know if I'll be there... I don't feel really good". Natalie lets out a scoff, momentarily messing up her rolling before continuing again, "Come on Lottie, It's only a party. Besides, your 'little incident' is not that visible ''. Taissa stares at Natalie with a look that says 'Really?' , "Geez, how about some fucking decency Natalie?" she spats out receiving a roll of eyes from the other girl "The point is, going to a party won't be that big of a deal". Everyone seems to turn to Lottie, waiting for her response, "...Ok".

Night has come, and with it, Lottie's uneasiness. The party had proved to be a lot more crowded than she imagined, it was packed with people who were beginning to drink by the time the Yellowjackets had come. Jackie had placed her hand on Lottie's shoulder, stroking it reassuringly "Don't worry Lottie, we won't go anywhere" and for a split second, Lottie had believed her and smiled reproaching the smile, before she had looked away -for one fucking second-, and all of her team had left to so their things: Taissa and Van had two red cups in their hands and were flirting to one angle of the room, Jackie had blindedly followed Jeff somewhere with Shauna trailing behind her and Natalie was gone to God knows where, probably doing drugs with those toxics of her friends. So, as she had been sure all this time, Lottie was alone. A sigh escaped her lips, her brows furrowing in annoyance and creating a small wrinkle between them, and worry showing in her eyes. She makes a bee line to the kitchen, finding it almost empty except for a drunk couple in one of the dark corners; on the table amidst all the discarded red cups and leftover foods, sits a clear glass bowl of red-blood punch with some ice and a slice of orange floating in. Lottie takes one of the clean cups and fills it to the brim with alcohol. She drinks her worries away feeling the liquid heat her from within, before she knows she has gulped down half of it. Her hands search for her cigarettes in her jeans pocket, finding only a few left: taking one she holds it between her lips but realizes she has forgotten her lighter at home, "As if this night couldn't be any worse...".

When you walk into the kitchen, you see the same girl who yesterday almost got half of her face blown off -Lottie, you remind yourself-.

She's dressed in high waisted dark gray jeans, a long sleeved black shirt and a pair of glasses which made her look far more nerdy than she might have intended. "Oh, hi!" she turns around so quickly that some of the liquid spills out of the cup and pours on her fingers, but she doesn't seem to care all that much, all her attention is on you. "H-Hi...!". Walking over to her, you smile "You are Lottie right? You got pretty hurt some time ago, huh?", gulping down dryly her eyes focused on your lips resting on the cup ridge "Uhhhh, uh, ehm, yes yeas, yeah that's me...". Eyes hazy and unfocused, she doesn't hear you calling out for her "...ttie. Lottie? Earth calls to Lottie, are you there?" she jolts up a second, straighten her spine and avoids to look you in the eye. "Uh, yeah I'm here, just a little distracted" her throat clears and she lets out a small laugh. You look at her, you notice the way she seems to be around you: gone is the confident jock from the soccer team, all that's left of her is a girl who's too shy to talk without stuttering every few seconds. "Say, would you like to get to know each other?" her throat clears before she nods her head slightly with a little smile. "So, what do you like to do, you know, besides soccer?" you lean on the table while sipping on the punch, "Well, I like partying, usually, and -you know- soccer is all my life. I play the guitar sometimes..." your gasp interrupts her, "You'll have to let me hear something one day!". Lottie tells you more about her life: she tells you about her father and mother, about how she's always alone in that big cold house of hers, about how she likes the soccer team a lot -except Jackie sometimes- and of her love for teen dramas, especially Dawson's Creek.

The alcohol starts to make your body heat, she looks so good under dimmed lights; you sip down the last drops of the alcohol and throw the empty cup on the table, slightly scaring Lottie. "Would you like to dance?" her eyes move to yours and shakes her head in approval "Of course!" you take her cup and set it on the table, placing your hand on hers and leading her to the living room.

The room is lit by red light, the music is so loud it makes her heart jump in her chest, but Lottie can barely hear it over the loud beating of her heart in her ears. You get close to her body and feel its heat, how her skin shivers when you touch her a little too long and how she can't even place her shaky hands on you. Everything is slow, heated, the red lights paint Lottie in a way you haven't seen before; you lock eyes with her and for a moment, you feel the need to kiss her, even if you have known her only for a few hours. You get closer to her, so much so that you can feel the raspiness of her breath when you eye her lips. It isn't surprising then when, in the euphoria you're both experiencing, you don't hear the heavy steps of someone getting closer to you.

You get yanked from Lottie's grip, someone spins you around until you've met with his face again. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he snaps at you, his brows are furrowed and he looks even more of a rabid dog than when you left him. "Hello Brandon..." he grips your arms tighter, bruising your skin underneath; his breath is on your face,reeking of alcohol. "Hello'? What the fuck are you doing with this bitch?!" he starts to tug you around, all the while continuing to spit in your face insults.

As soon as he lets go of you Lottie reaches out and manhandles you behind her; a stern look appears on her face. "Hey, what's your problem?" she looks him up and down, studying him "My problem is you, and people like you" he spats out. "Like me?" she can feel her blood pressure rising, his implication not missed by Lottie.

Brandon's friends are near him, some giggle but others are trying to hold him down from exploding further. "Yeah, people like you and this bitch over here" he gestures at you with a nod, he seems to get even more red than he was before, almost looking rabid, "What the fuck are you talking about?".

Brandon seems to have been pushed over the edge, a wild look in his eyes, he sweats and screams on Lottie's face "You fucking faggots! You gross shit! Scum like you shouldn't even exist!" people are gathering now near, the music seems to almost have gone silent, flashes and giggles surround you. Lottie grips your hand tight, so tight that it hurts, "Lottie..." she turns around, her other hand placed on your hip and starts to lead you out of the party.

"Let's go" her voice wavering: for a split second, she saw her father spilling insults at her after she had told what she really was. "Yeah you better go! We don't want disgusting shits like you around here" Brandon is held back by his friends when he attempts to chase after you.

Through her clouded mind, Lottie doesn't miss Brandon's next words "You aren't even that good at soccer, I bet your father is really proud of his shitty disgusting lizzie daughter". Lottie feels her knuckles crush bone beneath them, and regains her consciousness, realizing she had punched Brandon right on the nose, in the exact same way she was hit the day's priors. He falls on his ass in the middle of his friend group, spurting insults and imprecations at you and Lottie. Before you can look at him, you're tugged out of the party. You run with Lottie, both with the fear that he might get out of his friend's grapes and follow you; you run across the small patch of woods just outside of Randy's house.

The night is lit by countless stars in the sky, wind blows through the trees and inside of your heart an euphoric feeling blooms. When you end up at the other side of the trees, in a clearance, you start to laugh at your heart's content; your laugh is so contagious that it starts to affect Lottie too -who previously was looking at you like you were mad- making her let out chuckles of her own.

You hold on to her, much like you did when you were at the party, she hides her face into your neck while still giggling: you start to notice the position you're in, her breath hitches when she notices how close you are and -more importantly- where her face is. Dark eyes reflect the night sky, she looks at you with something akin to adoration for a second, before she composes herself and let go of you, clearing her throat. "So ummm... who was that guy?" you rethink about the events of the night and -trying not to think- about how good Lottie looks right now. "He was my ex-boyfriend. He has been going a bit crazy since I broke up with him. I told him I... liked girls and he has been bothering me ever since I left him" Lottie let's out a small 'oh' of approval, taking in all that you said. "So... you like girls" she hums in thought; you inadvertently let out a laugh "Of course! I thought it was pretty obvious from how I was looking at you". Her face becomes beet red -'Shit, I looked so stupid! Why did I asked that?!'-, she scratches the back of her head while averting your gaze. Her hand is held by yours, she follows your movement and when she turns around, she's met with your lips on hers. She can't move the lips back, too stunned by your action to reciprocate the kiss but just when you thought of pulling away -'maybe she doesn't like me'- you feel her hands cupping your cheeks and deepening the kiss. -'Whoa... sparks...'- she thinks while deepening the kiss even more, it feels like millions of little light sparks shine on you and her. She's so close you can barely breathe, the air itself feels intoxicating, this is just too good to be true. When you pull away, both of you are blushing and messy, she looks amazing under the moonlight: hair messy, glasses slightly sliding to the side, skin so red and eyes watery. "Wow... this feels very... romantic..." she sighs into your neck, holding your chest to hers "We should do this more often..." you kiss her again, giddy, holding onto her neck "We definitely should!".

Something moves in the bushes rapidly, making both of you jolt up in fear that your ex might've catched up, Lottie is already ready to throw another punch, just when from the darkness between the trees, the Yellowjackets appear, all of them. "G-God!" an echo of 'oooh's' rise up from the group, Van begins the lead of them "Oh so that's what you were doing Lottie! We feared you got into a fight!". Van gets closer to you two, throwing her arm around Lottie's shoulders "Are you gonna introduce your 'friend' to us?", the taller girl puffs out a breath in annoyance "Oh fuck off!".

[spyroforlife]

I've had further Emberlynn Pinkle thoughts

I think the best possible life for her in Hell. is for her to become a goddamn Overlord

Because wouldn't that just be so fitting. That the person who writes over the top fanfics, who probably makes her characters utter Mary Sues (affectionate) who are amazing and powerful and beloved, actually HERSELF becomes a person of power and status in her afterlife

I like to envision her becoming the Overlord of Smut

She gets herself a real nice headquarters, something like a combined library and apartment building, where those who sold their souls to her can live and be taken care of. They've got Internet, they've got food, and you've got the whole big library and lounge area down on the first floor!!

BUT. If she owns your soul. You're gonna work too. Helping out with the Hell-exclusive version of AO3 she created, of course! Responding to support tickets. Tag wrangling. Doing other admin work. Tech support. You get to have your own account too of course and you get extra features, so you can make your own fics even better~ It's very much encouraged for her employees to be fic writers

And she just makes money from demons donating to her entirely because they love her site full of filthy stories, and they want to be able to continue reading and posting their own fics. Non-employees get more basic accounts but there's still plenty they can do.

This isn't even treading on Valentino's toes. It's just written stuff. It's not using real people, there's nothing being filmed. So in Val's eyes, it's two different industries. He does the live action stuff. Hers is meant to be read. So he doesn't really care, and in fact peruses the site himself for inspiration.

I could see him having a deal with her where if he likes a fic idea, she'll get him in touch with whoever wrote it and help negotiate the person allowing Val to use the idea, in return for some of the profits. Emberlynn and the writer of course split their share, and this is all laid out in the site's TOS. As you can imagine, this does attract demons intentionally trying to get Val's approval with their writing, and those guys are seen as squares, but like. Can't really stop them.

Everyone just generally posts what they like and ignores shit that annoys them. And yeah, massively popular website, ran by Emberlynn and her followers, and their headquarters is often visited by others who just wanna hang out and talk about their own writing.

They sell snacks and stuff to guests, and hey, if you like this and want to be part of their exclusive club.. go talk to the boss lady Emberlynn and she'll get you alll set up.

yea idk. Overlord Emberlynn y'all

oh yeah and of course her powers get stronger as she gains souls, idk what all she'll be able to do exactly but I know for sure she can fly, and I can also see her being an emotion reader who specializes in sensing people's turn-ons, which she can use to direct them to the writers she thinks they'll like the most :D she might also be able to mildly hypnotize people using pheromones or something idk. just throwing ideas around haha Emberlynn is fun and I hope she lives her best monsterfucker life in Hell

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

No Pain, No Gain | Part 4, Final | PersonalTrainer!Aemond x fem!reader

A:N: Thank you all soooo much for joining me on this one, it was a blast to write. This chapter kinda made me feral writing it ngl. Cheers to my hype mama @ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 And I know I mentioned it in the first part but really it’s Ange as well as @valeskafics​ @oneeyedvisenya​ and @sapphire-writes​ that inspired me to write this from their AMAZING modern fics, so please give them all the love as well.

Series Masterlist | Warnings under the cut!

warnings: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, pussy slapping, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, Aemond being mean during sex lowkey love it tho

Lucky for you, the flight wasn’t too long.

 Even though you had Baela on your shoulder snoozing, nothing could tear your mind off the sheer idiocy of the previous week.

 You’d fucking kissed him.

Or he’d kissed you? At this point the whole memory was foggy.

 All you know is that you were mere seconds away from tearing his fucking clothes off in his home gym and letting him have you on any flat surface there was.

 You thought how wrong it was. You were paying this guy!

 And yet there was a lingering feeling in the back of your mind, a heat clawing its way up your neck, like a constant ache almost at the thought of what would have happened if you hadn’t bolted. The endless possibilities were…vividly playing on your brain the entire plane journey.

 ‘Fucking perfect’

 Even his voice had made a permanent home in your mind, his hot breath against your ear as he pinned you against the wall, allowing you to feel just how turned on he had been.

 You obeyed Baela’s wishes and only told Maris about the kiss.

 It turned out that Baela’s Dad, Daemon, had really gone all out for this retreat. In a place called Lys (which you’d scarcely heard of) on the other side of the island from where the airport was, it was quiet, with only the odd resident along the streets, but for the most part it was completely remote. You’d have to thank him for the personal taxi later.

 Baela had slept through the plane journey entirely so now she just looked out the windows tiredly.

 “Is your Dad and Rhaenyra already there?” you ask, seemingly breaking her from a tired trance.

 She stretches, “Yeah they’ve been here ages already, the rest of the fam are here as well, we’re the last”

 “Why’s that?” you ask.

 Baela smirks mischievously, “There’s some tension at the moment, flights were staggered for the sake of people’s sanity”

 “Oh right”

 You can still hear his voice, the breathy tone he’d used.

 ‘Fuck…’

 Bad girl. Stop it.

 At least it’d be nice to have the better part of a week abroad, miles and miles away from the man in question who was making every thought sinful. You could finally relax.

 “Is it a big resort?” you asked.

 “Oh it’s not one big place, we’ve all got separate little villas. You and I are with Rhaena and her boyfriend, Cregan. Alicent and her fam are in the one next to us. Dad’s done us the courtesy of being the furthest away so we can’t hear him and Rhaenyra going at it”

 “Ew Baela” you scrunch your nose, “Is Alicent nice?”

 “Nice enough to us. Look out for Aegon though”

 “The manwhore one, right. The one we ran into?”

 “Yeah, I didn’t tell him you were coming for a reason. The slut will be all over you”

 “Yeah no thanks, I might get syphilis” you joke, smoothing your hands over your legs.

 You’d changed on the plane to a pair of black shorts and a tank top, and it was a good job you did. It was hot in Lys. Bloody roasting. And if that wasn’t bad enough. It was humid as well, which meant the forgoing of a bra. But c'est la vie, you supposed, you were on holiday, you looked great, felt great and couldn’t wait to get in the sun and just soak it all up.

 You and Baela spent the last 30 minutes of the journey installing Tinder on your phone to check out the selection of men (and women, just out of curiosity) in Lys. But being a small island, you were picking up on people who lived hours away, in places you’ve never heard of either. 

To your dismay, not many people on Tinder in Lys, shockingly. So you stuffed your phone away as you pulled up to the resort. The resort, or at least the one which you’d share with Rhaena and Cregan, was a single floored villa with what you assumed was two bedrooms on each side. It was nice and quaint.

 “Cute” you comment.

Next to that little villa was another bigger one, two floors, slightly more bedrooms you’d wager. That must be where Alicent would be staying.

“She still came even though Viserys died?” you ask Baela, but she only raises her eyebrows.

 “It’s not like they were in love”

 Fair.

 Between the two villas there was a large shared pool that was separated into two sections and a tiny kiosk in the corner where a bartender was packing away stock. Rounding the taxi, you pull your luggage out with a huff.

 “Bartender is not too shabby” Baela wiggles her eyebrows and you shove her playfully.

 She’s right. He ain’t bad looking at all. Suitably tanned, perhaps even a native to the island, his white shirt only serves to emphasise the way his arms are so toned. It’s a nice distraction for sure, even if nothing ends up happening.

 It’s still early afternoon so plenty of time to get dressed and soak up the sun. But as you’re pulling your suitcase out of the taxi, you’re ogling the bartender so hard that it falls out the boot of the car.

 “Christ” you whisper.

 A woman from the bigger villa rounds the corner with long, curled auburn hair. You assume she must be Alicent, but she looks far too young to have four kids all grown up. She gives Baela a polite wave and turns, “Boys, help them with their bags, would you?”

 “Oh no, we’re fine!” you say back, giving her a wave and kneeling to the floor to pick up all your bags.

 “Thanks Aeg” Baela says as her bag is plucked from her grasp easily. You pull one bag over your shoulder and attempt to pull your suitcase to its side.

 “Struggling?”

 You froze.

 Oh fuck.

 You knew that voice. But you dare not look up.

 You stand with your hand on the handle of your suitable, eyes fixed solely on anywhere but where you know he is stood, smirking.

 An involuntary breath manages to escape when his large hand, the one you remembered pressing against your waist last time, brushed against yours to wrap around the handle of the suitcase. He takes it effortlessly, making you finally look up at him.

 He makes no secret of eyeing every bit of you, savouring the parts he’s never seen before, like the expanse of your legs, having previously always been covered by gym leggings. Smooth and leading to the spot where his eye pauses for a moment. To the tops of your thighs sneaking out of your shorts, he eyes them as well with a dark, determined look. The corner of his lip curled up somewhat once he saw the tank top and your lack of anything underneath.

 He looks disgustingly good, at least since the last time you saw him. Hair once again, in that slutty fucking bun.

 He’s only wearing shorts, perhaps he’d been sunbathing as well, but clearly not had much of a tan yet. His chest, which you’d never seen bare before, was glistening under the sun, toned and well defined with lines running all over. You caught yourself from looking at the dip of his hips, at the lines leading down to where you knew you wouldn’t be able to not look if you did. So you painfully refrained and looked back into his mismatched eyes, at the glowing pride sitting there at your obvious ogling of his form.

 He chuckles quietly and takes your suitcase to take into your room, as if he just needed an excuse to see the inside of it. You stood stock still in your position, watching the muscles of his back move as he walks, as if he just knows you’re watching him.

 Which of course, you are.

 You bite the inside of your cheek, both ragingly horny and annoyed at the same time.

 And when you look over at Baela, she bites her lip, mouthing I didn’t know.

 “I’m gonna fucking kill you” you whispered and she laughed nervously, as if really believing you’d do it.

Once the two Targaryen brothers had evacuated your rooms, you pushed Baela inside your shared room and slammed the door.

“Woah woah chill, what’s the big deal?” she asked, searching your eyes.

“Baela, why the fuck is he here?” you whisper, clearly stressed.

 “The fuck is up with you?”

 “Fuck’s sake, Baela, we kissed!”

She’s quiet for a moment and you expect her to freak out, but she just raises an eyebrow, “Is that it?”

 “Baela!”

 “You didn’t bang?”

 “Fuck’s sake, no! I mean… we might have if I hadn’t run off…but it felt too weird-I was paying him-”

 “You ran off?” Baela snorts.

 “Shut the fuck up”

 “What are you afraid of dick now?”

“Baela, I just-I couldn’t, it felt too weird-it’s not like I didn’t want to but-fuck”

 Baela puts her arms on your shoulders, “Babe, calm down. Listen, he's not your personal trainer anymore, mm’kay? He’s just ‘creepy Aemond’, now get your ass in that bikini so we can see the fruits of your labours alright? Get in that fucking sun”

 “He’s not creepy, Bae” you reply, exasperated by the situation you’ve been put in.

 “Regardless, get out there. Show him what he’s missing” Baela winks, zipping open her bag to get her swimming stuff, “You’re hot, y/n. Show him”

 With an annoyed sigh, you shed your clothes, not caring about whether you’re naked in front of Baela or not. A few years in a house-share with her meant you’d walked in on each other nude more than once.

 “Well?” she grins, you look over, bottom half of the black bikini now on, and your jaw drops.

 “Oh my god” you say, looking over at her. She has a bikini of her own, pale blue in colour and one that compliments her skin tone well. Hers has ties that she’s double knotted, “You look fit”

 “Thank you” she says with a smile, as if she knows it anyway.

 You pull your bikini top on, making sure your boobs are well rested and adjusted inside the top. The bottoms are double knotted at the hips, the top a classic one that ties around your neck and back. Once the girls are where they’re meant to be, you look over yourself in the mirror, and you had to admit, the one month program did a number on you. Thighs and legs, slightly more toned, curves smoothed over, arms had a bit more shape to them, but nothing that screamed ‘ah yeah I work out’. And more than anything, the ass looked amazing. You knew you had an ass anyway, but now…

 “What do you think?” you ask Baela, pulling your hair up messily.

 She looks at you in the mirror, “I give it a day” she says as she smears lotion over her body.

 “Until?”

 “Til Aemond’s had you on every flat surface here”

 “You’re fucking gross, you know that”

 “Bet you 5 gold dragons”

 “You’re on,  bitch”

  Once suitably sun-creamed up, skin glistening with it, you rest your sunglasses on top of your head and take a deep breath, going out to be greeted by the warm, humid air. Luckily, only Aegon seems to be sat outside on a sunbed at the moment, his hat resting over his face. Baela happily passes you a bright orange cocktail, and not quite ready to get into the pool, you sit on the side and dip your legs in, the smell of chlorine making you feel like you were finally on holiday.

 Aegon lifts his hat, squinting, “Hello ladies”

 Baela dips into the pool, “Manwhore”

 “Well that’s not very nice”

 Aegon doesn’t make any further effort to speak, plopping his hat back over his face, one airpod in his ear. Sipping the cool drink you scan the area. The villas are cute and luxurious and from here down the cobbled path you can see the beach that backs onto it all, the glaring white sand calling to you and the rush of the waves against them are somewhat calming.

 The little bar in the corner plays some quiet music, not loud enough to disturb anyone from their sunbathing or other holiday-like activities. Alicent sits on the other side underneath a parasol, she’s wearing a classy one-piece and for a woman with four kids grown up, she doesn’t show it one bit, slender and youthful. She reads a book in her lap, sunglasses rested firmly on her nose, a diet-coke in one hand.

 The only sound at the moment was the quiet music and the rippling of water as Baela swam leisurely in the pool, careful not to get her hair wet.

 It was nice.

 Down the cobbled path, you hear the grunts of what sound like two male voices. Arching an eyebrow and tipping your sunglasses up, there’s two men, suitably broad, making their way up to your villa.

 “Ah, my favourite cousin has arrived!” this guy is shorter, but not short by any means, he has wild curly brown hair and wearing shorts that reach to about his knees. Not a red flag per se but…

 Baela splashes him from her spot in the pool, “See you two are getting along famously”

 The other guy with him you recognise as Cregan Stark, Rhaena’s current boyfriend. You’d seen him around when you were at university, but the years had been kind to him and he’d broadened significantly, with a dark beard and a smattering of chest hair covering his torso. At least he’s opted for more stylish shorts though. You give him a polite wave which he returns, he’d always been a softie, it seems that hadn’t changed. Good for Rhaena.

 Jace flashes a smile your way, “Is this the infamous y/n?” he asks, rounding the pool to come and stand beside you to introduce himself, “I’m Jace”

 It’s at this moment that Aemond comes out of his villa, towel in hand. You try your damndest to not look in his direction as he throws his towel at the sunbed next to Aegon, but when you break and do, he’s not even looking at you. He’s staring daggers into the back of Jace’s head, gaze dark as if he wants to take the poor guy’s head clean off. And he makes a fucking meal out of his, only briefly flitting to you before looking away.

 Oh.

 Oh.

 You bite back a smile.

 “Nice to meet you” you say, shaking his hand politely, looking back to Baela and pulling an awkward look. She’s doing the same thing with her eyebrow raised.

 “I’m the other cousin, my brother’s Luke and Joff are in the villa over” he says excitedly. Gods he’s like…a puppy. Even though he very well could be the same age or older, he’s vibrating with excitement. It’s kind of a turn off.

 “You’re Rhaenyra’s kids right?” you ask, politely pretending to be interested.

 He nods, “Yeah, you probably won’t see her. Her and Daemon are always in the cities being tourists”

 This attempt at conversation is…taking it all from you. He’s cute, but not fuckable cute. And with Aemond in your peripheral pretending to be on his phone, but secretly watching every word that’s exchanged, it’s kind of exciting to see him…jealous perhaps.

 You just nod and agree to whatever he says. Aemond visibly bristles, tongue poking the inside of his cheek when Jace signs off with, “You’re welcome to come to our villa whenever you want”

 A bit…forward if anything. But you thank him politely and Jace eventually retreats down the cobbled path to his villa, which he’s helpfully stated is only about a 2 minute walk.

 Cregan asks, “Where’s Rhaena?”

“At the beach”

Cregan gives a polite smile, going off to the white sandy beach in search of his girlfriend. Baela swims up to you, leaning on the side of the pool as you sip the last of your cocktail.

 “Is he always so adept with women?” you ask with a smirk, Baela snorts, “several times I caught him looking below the chin”

 “Can you blame him” Baela returns, “Nah, he’s harmless really, you coming in?” she asks, swimming on her back to the middle of the pool.

 Sighing, you pull the sunglasses from your head and put them aside, padding over to the ladder.

 Even though you don’t look, you feel the intensity of his gaze. Raking all over your skin, as if the more he stares, the more skin he’ll be able to see. Perhaps he’d wondered what you looked like beneath the black fabric of the bikini, what it might feel like to undo the ties of them and let the fabric peel off your moistened skin, exposing your most intimate areas to the humid air.

 Your skin blossoms at the thought, even with how hot it is. The sun makes it no easier to cool off from these musings, only serving to intensify the electric bolt that radiates between the both of you, becoming stronger the closer you are to him.

 He watches as your legs dip into the pool the further you descend down the ladder, the water moistening your sun-cream lotioned skin, slipping away in waves as the droplets lap against your toned thighs. Aemond thinks he might die on the spot when the water surges against your breasts, instantly making the supple skin there glisten in the sun.

 And if that wasn’t enough, you reach up in a surprisingly tempting gesture and pull the clip from your hair. He’d rarely seen your hair down, but here with the ends dipping into the pool, each strand glimmering a soft halo around your head with the afternoon glow, the reins he has pulled taut inside his head are slipping recklessly.

 Pretending to scroll through his phone, his brother Aegon smirks beneath his hat, shamelessly watching Aemond’s resolve slowly crumble. But you do a good job of barely looking at him for the remainder of the afternoon. The same cannot be said for him.

 He realises he’s fucked when Baela, the ever playful person she is, dunks you below the water and every bit of you is wet, water cascading off every curve as you laugh and wipe your eyes. Even when you pull yourself onto the ladder out of the pool, giving him the perfect view of your ass, pulling the bikini a little bit up your hips as you do so, he manages to somehow hold it together.

 Being late in the afternoon, the sun’s beginning to make its way down, so with a slight shiver you pull a towel around you, raking some fingers through your wet hair to get the chlorine-induced tangles out. You lean over the bar, waiting for the bartender to turn around,

“Baela, what do you want?”

“Whatever you’re having!”

The bartender flashes a smile once he recognises your presence, eyes flitting to your chest pressed between your arms as you lean over the bar before returning to your eyes.

 “What can I get for you” he asks lowly and your head cocks at the accent. It’s kinda hot.

 “Do you have gin and tonic?” you ask politely,

 He braces the bar, the vein in his arm visible from this angle, “We do, but I think for a pretty woman like you I can make something better”

 You raise an eyebrow, “like what?”

 He twirls a glass of something behind his back, clearly showing off his bartending skills, “How about something with ouzo?”

 You shrug with a smile, “Never tried it but sure”

 As he mixes the drink, you peer over your shoulder at Baela and then to Aemond. He’s already watching you. It’s that look again. The one he’d given you last time in his home gym. The one where it feels like he’s looking right inside you, the darkened, determined look. You keep his gaze, thinking he will just look away like he had before. But he doesn’t.

 A muscle in his jaw twitches with annoyance. Or perhaps not even annoyance. Something else.

 Once you’ve polished off several cocktails, Aemond leaves with Aegon to go inside, presumably to change clothes, but not before giving you a look over his shoulder. Anyone else would have thought he was livid. To be honest, for a second you thought he very well could be. For what reason he had to be livid? You had no idea.

 You spent the night slathered in mosquito repellent and sat outside with Baela, Rhaena and Cregan. You’d wanted to be comfortable so decided on a dress with spaghetti straps. It was a comfortably warm evening, with fire-lit torches illuminating the space around the villa. Rhaena had arrived back in the late afternoon, flushed in the face and hair tousled and you and both Baela had noted that Cregan’s shorts were untied. The sun was clearly getting to Rhaena. Her and Cregan was a fairly new thing and she’d been both shocked and giddy when he’d offered to be her plus one for the trip.

 Sometime in the night, a figure that was clearly Aemond and another white haired girl walked towards their villa.

 “Helaena!” Rhaena shouted over with a smile. Both figures stopped and your stomach fluttered with nervousness when Aemond’s eyes landed on you briefly. Then a slight pang of disappointment when he said goodbye to the woman next to him to slip inside the villa.

 The ethereal looking woman comes over excitedly, sitting beside you, “Oh my gosh, when did you guys get here!”

 “Cregan and I came yesterday” Rhaena smiles,

 “Yeah but they were probably in bed all day sleeping, right Rhae?” Baela murmurs into her drink earning a smack from her sister.

 “Well it’s nice to meet you, Cregan” Helaena smiles politely before turning to you, “And you are?”

 “I’m y/n, Helaena was it?” you ask, shaking her soft hand. She was really pretty, like a fairy just floating around. She had dangly earrings with ladybirds on them and was wearing a flowy cream dress.

 “Oh so you’re y/n, I’ve heard so much about you!”

 It catches you off guard slightly, but you nod and then turn to Baela furrowing your eyebrows confusedly. She’s heard so much about you? The hell does that mean?

 The rest of the night is really pleasant and Helaena stays with you all chatting for the remainder of it. She’s really nice it turns out. It’s a wonder she’s even related to her brothers. She tells you all about the family drama, which piques your excitement and that her youngest brother Daeron, didn’t end up coming since he’s studying abroad, so she came instead. And you’re grateful she did, it’s nice to have other new female company.

 In your shared bedroom, you and Baela chat well into the night, about a plethora of things. But one subject you refuse to broach is him. Nope. Can’t talk about him. He’s only a few metres away, if you let your mind wander too much it’ll all be over.

 It’s a restless night’s sleep and your subconscious certainly doesn’t help. All your mind can allow you to remember is the way he touched you, how he had pressed against you, how his lips were slotting against yours almost desperately, his low moan.

 The next morning, after having a continental breakfast, Baela puts on a long maxi dress.

 “Everyone’s going to the city for a shop around, wanna come?” Baela meets your eyes in the mirror.

 “Shopping? Nah, that’s fine I’ll just stay here, want to relax a little bit and get some more sun”

 “You sure? Feel bad leaving you here on your own”

 “Is everyone going with you?” you ask, pulling some shorts over your black bikini.

 “Nearly, except for Dad and Rhaenyra. Sure you don’t mind?” she asks,

“Course not, have a good time”

 Pulling a shawl over your shoulders you see Baela and everyone off before trudging down the cobbled path to the white, sandy beach, plopping yourself on the sand and opening a book you’d borrowed from the shelf near the bar. You let the sun beat down on your shoulders, the soft wind blowing through your hair and listening to the waves in the quiet hair while reading a book just seems so calming.

 You’d already gotten quite a bit of sun yesterday and your legs had glazed with a sun-kissed colour, as well as your arms. So much so, the bikini had left a few lines where the straps were, if only very faintly. It was always easy for you to catch the sun. Pulling off your shorts, you lean back on your elbows to read some more and get some colour on your thighs.

 Early afternoon came by quickly and before you knew it, you could feel the tingle of pinkness on your shoulders, where your bikini was tied at your neck.

 Fuck.

 You’d forgotten to put suncream there, Baela had been the one to reach the difficult spot yesterday.

 Packing up your things, you carry your shorts and shawl in one hand and trudge back to the villa. It’s quiet, everyone must still be in the city. Your hair had somewhat curled up from the sea breeze so you ran your fingers through it once inside, snagging on some tangles.

 Now, where was the aftersun. Baela had it…

 “Not a fan of shopping?”

 Your head swung around at the sudden, familiar voice. And there he was, looking annoyingly hot, leaning against the doorway to your villa, a toned arm supporting his weight. Again, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and his shorts hung on his hips, making your eyes dip to those lines that lead…

 No.

 He has a lazy smile on his face, happy to have got you flustered and allowing his eyes once again to look over you in just the black bikini once more.

 “No, not really” is all you can muster, going back to looking for the aftersun with urgency. But really you didn’t want him to see the pink flush on your cheeks. Seeing him like this, no less being alone with him, especially looking as good as he does, was about to drive you to madness.

 He hums and walks forward into the village, hands in his pockets, “Looking for something?”

 “U-uh, just the aftersun” you struggle, clearing your throat and cursing yourself for the shake in your voice at being in his presence once again.

 “Ah” he responds.

 You gasp when one of his arms braces the counter in front of you and he bends down to the mini fridge, opening it to produce a bottle of said aftersun. You could feel his presence at your back, broad and warm, all encompassing. Swallowing thickly, you take a breath. It must be the smell of something on his skin that gives off a subtle scent, but whatever it is makes your stomach flutter and a warm bloom settles in your abdomen.

 You go to reach for the bottle, but he pulls back, and you meet his gaze. His look is soft, but dark and steadfast.

 “Where”

 Jesus fucking christ. My heart is beating so fucking fast right now.

 “Um…back of my neck” it comes out a whisper, and he doesn’t miss the way your breasts move in the bikini as you nervously breathe slightly heavier.

 “Difficult to reach by yourself” he muses, his voice rumbling in his chest as he is standing right behind you. You bite your lip. Is this really fucking happening right now.

 You shiver when his large hand moves your hair from your back to one side of your neck, the feeling of his fingers brushing against the skin there almost makes an involuntary sound come out your mouth. But you repress it, closing your eyes to grab hold of your reins.

 One hand fiddles with the single knot of the tie at your neck, slowly, his breath steady. And he finds the one he needs and pulls slowly, unwinding the bow until the bikini top is loosened. Your hands move to hold the front of your bikini up to cover your breasts as the fabric falls. Your mind is at war with itself, stuck between thinking this is wrong and it should stop, and then the more dominant side thinks, he’s here, doing this, you might as well see where it goes.

 Even though it was only one thin strap, when he sees your almost bare back right before him, you hear him exhale lowly and you only know because you feel his hot breath against it. He deposits some cold aftersun in his hand and slowly reaches out to the slightly pink skin of your nape, to spread it across. Your body prickles with anticipation at his touch, coupled with the chill of the liquid. Nobody says a thing as he massages it into your skin, not quite feathery but he applies pressure, making sure to roll his fingers into the muscles there, so that you really feel him.

 He continues for a moment and then his other hand joins. You’re unsure if there is actually any aftersun left at this point and he is just finding an excuse to touch you, but you don’t stop him. Desire pools in your stomach as his hands drag south, down the expanse of your back, to the sides, nearly touching your own hands where they are covering your breasts. Your eyelashes flutter as you sigh at the feeling, his large palms working the moistened skin. It is this point your eyes open when you feel his very obvious erection, pressing firmly against your buttocks.

 You feel his breath close to your nape, and it all seems to fall apart as he presses his lips there. Once, twice, three times…and then again as he drags his lips up your neck to behind your ear.

 “It’s not fair…you getting to walk around like this…” he whispers next to your ear, his hands trace the contours of your breasts, “...every fucking guy ogling you…”

 One of his hands smoothes down your side, resting at your hip, fiddling with the single knot of your bikini there.

 “...wanting to fuck you…”

 He just lets his hang rest there, neither touching you where you need him the most. Your blood is rushing around your body, humming with desire. Frustrated at not being allowed the pleasure it so desperately needs.

 “...but you won’t let them, will you. You’ll just let them look, like the needy attention slut you are”

 His words are unexpected but they have their effect, and you can practically feel your arousal at what he says. One of his hands sneaks beneath yours, to grab one of your breasts tightly, almost possessively, pinching the nipple between his dexterous fingers. It makes you breathe out a quiet moan, your body slowly giving in.

 “Do you have any idea how much I wanted to fuck that stupid little attitude out of you?” he says, his breath hot on the shell of your ear.

 He moulds your breast in his palm effortlessly, waiting for an answer.

 But you moan louder in both surprise and arousal when he squeezes it harshly, “I asked you a question”

 “Fuck-no, I didn’t…” you somehow manage, cracking your eyes open slightly. You see him only a little in your peripheral, expecting him to be smirking. But he’s not, he is dead serious. Which somehow serves to awaken your desire even more.

 His other hand slips beneath the fabric of your bikini and he himself lets out a guttural moan feeling how turned on you already are, the pads of his fingers collect the wetness already there, moving up to circle your slit with your own slick. Your mouth falls open slightly, body trembling with anticipation. God why does it feel so good.

“I would have had you in every way imaginable…if you’d stayed…” he murmurs against you, speeding up the motions of his finger.

“Fuck…Aemond-please”

 He spins you around quickly, the top of your bikini falling in a useless mess to the floor and he quite literally growls at the sight of your tits, as if he’d imagined what they might look like for a long time. His jaw tightens at the sight and he pushes the bottoms down to the floor, sinking to his knees almost instantly so he is staring hungrily at your cunt, wet and dripping for him.

 His hands remain at your hips, his fingers bruising red marks into them.

“Please what”

 Shit.

 Your face flushes red at the sight of him so close to your intimate area, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little embarrassed, but his pupils are so dilated with pure lust, it almost makes you forget.

 Your body jolts when he slaps your pussy hard, sending a jolt of pleasure through your clit and clawing up your spine, a desperate sound escapes you. He need not say anything else.

 “Please, I need you” you whine pathetically and he huffs, as if annoyed, using his large hands to part your legs even further, the counter biting into your lower back.

 “That’s what I fucking thought”

 He dives into your pussy with his tongue, swirling the soft, wet muscle around your clit a few times deliciously before venturing down, fucking you with his tongue and lapping up your slick like a man starved. He grips your hips as if you might move away from him, keeping you right where he wants you and all the while your desperate whines and the lewd sound of his mouth are the only thing that fills the otherwise quiet villa.

 You pray nobody returns, because what you’re doing right now deserves to be loud.

 God, how long had it been since a man last treated you this way. Since a man had known what to do with you so confidently, to have you a moaning mewling mess.

 It’s here when you look down, that you realise he’s fucking moaning while eating your pussy, almost sounding as if he’s enjoying this far more than you are. Enjoying your taste, your scent, everything. He briefly looks up at you, drinking in the indulgent look on your pinkened face, before delving deeper, his sharp nose rubbing against your clit with every move he makes with his tongue within you.

 You nearly lose it entirely when he presses two fingers inside, immediately crooking them to rub against that delicious spongy spot that makes your mouth hang open.

 “Ohfuck” you whimper as he doubles his efforts on your clit while pistoning his long, slender fingers within you. It feels like so much and your hand comes down to his wrist, feeling your climax curl in your gut and threatening to explode faster than ever. But he groans and uses his other hand to push it away, blissfully ignoring you and going faster in an effort to make you come apart around him.

 “You gonna come on my fucking tongue” he growls into your pussy, his ministrations never stopping for a second and in fact his lips lock around your clit to suck. A desperate moan spills from your mouth, not even passing your brain.

 “Yes, yes…” you pant, “Fuck-Aemond”

 Your hands brace the counter as your climax is ripped from you by the force of his fingers and mouth. Pure, white hot pleasure wakes every nerve in your body, prickling up your back and into your limbs, making them go numb. You barely register the sound you even make as Aemond continues to fuck you with his fingers through it, lapping up every bit of your essence that comes out, moaning and chanting ‘good fucking girl’.

 It genuinely takes you a moment to recover from it, your chest shining with sweat from the effort. But before you know which way is up, he rises, hands under your thighs to pull you up onto the counter, which is good since your legs were starting to give in from the force of your orgasm.

 “Aem-”

 His lips are on yours before you even have a chance to speak, allowing your legs to part so he might press flush against your weeping cunt. You feel his erection, hard and thick against you and it only makes you want it more. He takes you in with his lips as if it’s the air he breathes, a mess of lips, tongues and the taste of you, sweet like nectar.

 “Fuck, want you so bad” he breathes between kisses, outright moaning when your fingers card into the hair at his nape and grip.

 “Fuck me, I want to feel all of you”

 His eyes peer open down at you, his chest heaving with desire.

 “Please, don’t make me beg”

 At this, he does smirk, pushing his shorts further down his hips and freeing his cock, “I’d like to see you beg, baby”

 Christ.

 He’s much bigger than you’ve had before, definitely bigger than your pathetic ex was anyway (not like it’s hard). You take him into your palm, hot, weighty and heavy and he tilts his head back at the feeling as you give his length a few languid strokes, although there really is no need since he’s been constantly hard the second he saw you come out the taxi the day before. The way his face contorts when you rub your thumb over his weeping tip makes you think he is painfully hard, aching for any kind of release.

 God, if this is what he looks like now, you want to see his face when he is fucking you stupid.

 You guide him to your waiting core, his head barely kissing your entrance.

 “I’ve got an IUD, please-”

 He doesn’t need to hear any more, his hands reach out to grip your waist, pulling you forward as he pushes, letting out a guttural moan as he sinks into you to the hilt. He moves your leg to hook around him, trying to get as close to you as possible.

 “Fuck…” he moans with a shudder as his cock is squeezed by your tightness, “god you’re so fucking tight”

 Everything about this has your blood on fire. His cock fills you so perfectly, his moans, his words, the way his hands are holding you apart for him to use you. One of his hands moves to your nape, grabbing the hair there in his grip tightly, and the tension against your hair makes you moan out as well.

 But he doesn’t move.

 “Aemond…”

 “Beg for it” he orders, his stomach taut with the effort it takes to hold himself back. Frustrated and turned on beyond belief, you try and move your hips for friction. His hand flies from your hip to your jaw, fingers bruising into your cheeks, making you look directly at him and your eyes meet his, wide-eyed and heavily dilated, “Beg for it like the fucking slut I know you are”

 Once again his words ignite that fire that creeps down your spine, and you feel every bit of him. Every vein on his cock, how it twitches within your heat and how it kisses your cervix with how big it is.

 “Please fuck me, just move Aemond-please”

 You don’t have the resolve to deny it now. You want it so bad, more than you’ve wanted anything ever.

 He wets his lips, “That’s it” he coos.

 He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back inside, watching the way your tits bounce when his hips snap against yours with need. He doesn't start gently, too pent up for that, nor does he build up to it. He fucks you on the counter like he’s not been able to get a moment’s rest from thinking about this for weeks. The hand in your hair tightens impossibly, holding you there while his cock drags against your walls, still sensitive from your previous climax.

 Aemond watches his cock disappear over and over again into you, coated in your slick, revelling in the filthy sounds it makes when he slaps against you. And when he delivers a particularly hard thrust, brushing against that spot inside, your hand flies to your mouth to contain your moans, concerned that if anyone did come back, they’d be able to hear you.

 “None of that” he growls, ripping your hand away from your mouth, his eyes glimmering with mischief, “I wanna hear how good I make you feel”

 It’s impossible to hold back. He sees it all as a challenge now as he takes your hips with both hands, fucking you even faster if it were possible. He adjusts his hips and his stomach muscles, toned and hard ripple with the effort, his strong arms caging you completely in and he looks down at you as if he wants to see exactly the moment it happens.

 You grip his forearm tightly, “Aemond-I’m-”

 “Fuck I can feel you squeezing me…you gonna cum for me, hm? All over my cock” he breathes.

 You nod desperately, “Yesyes…please…cum inside me-”

 His brow arches smugly at this, a smirk etching on his features, “You want me to fill you up, huh”

 “Gods - yes”

 “Hm” he hums, allowing his large hand to encircle your throat, only barely squeezing, “gonna make you work for it”

 It’s when he squeezes your neck that you shut your eyes, face contorted in pleasure and that coil inside snapping forcefully. You can practically feel the rhythm of your heartbeat through your clit as you let go completely, gripping onto him for dear life. You don’t know what he means by ‘work for it’ but you don’t really care right now. The pleasure comes in waves over your body and Aemond pistons in and out through it, a lazy smile on his face watching you as you orgasm.

 You realise in all this that he’s not stopped. His hips continue to press into you faster and faster, now bullying the overly sensitive spots inside that have been decimated by your climax.

 “Aemond?...” you manage with a breathy moan, quickly feeling overstimulated.

 “Told you I’d make you work for it” he muses, moving his thumb to circle your clit.

 You gasp out, back arching against him as he tries to work yet another orgasm out of you, “I-I can’t-”

 “Give it to me” he orders, all while keeping that breakneck pace as he fucks you, sparking white-hot and borderline unbearable pleasure in two ways against your body. He leans forward to lick a fat stripe up the column of your neck all the way up to your ear and the change in position has his cock once again directly drag against that spot inside, one that makes your eyes shut, face contort and stars begin to appear behind them.

 “Give it to me like the good girl you are” he whispers as he bites down on the skin of your neck, marking you for himself.

 With a strangled cry, you give in, thighs trembling against his muscled sides and you feel another gush of arousal coat his cock by the loud sounds it's still making. He fucks you through this one, his strokes becoming sloppy, and you go limp in his arms feeling that he may also not last much longer.

 “Good girl-fuck” he cums with a shattered moan after that, his head buried into your neck as you feel his hot spend paint your walls, giving a few desperate thrusts until his cock twitches from overstimulation, still seated within you. Still coming down from the two close orgasms he’d given you, you take a moment to come back to earth, eyes cracking open after a while.

 Even with him still inside you, you can feel the combination of his spend and your own arousal leaking out of you, coating your thighs. He pulls his head tiredly from your neck to look at you. And he looks amazing, so blissed out, a bit pink in the face, but there’s a new softness there now where there wasn’t before.

 “Gods, you’re so perfect…”

 You kiss him desperately, not wanting this feeling to end as you both come down from your respective highs. And there’s a part inside of you that is self-conscious that perhaps all he wanted was sex, and that he doesn’t like you at all, so you savour this moment, concerned that after all this…there might be nothing.

 “Go on a date with me…” he says suddenly and you look up at him. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks nervous, “please…”

 Combined with the thoughts you were just having, his words are so overwhelming that for the time it takes you to think of an answer, you just laugh breathlessly, which makes him arch a confused brow.

 “Date?” you ask, wondering if you’d heard correctly, “not to the gym I hope”

 “No, not at the gym” he laughs, “I…I’d like to get to know you better” he confesses.

 You huff a laugh, “You’re literally inside me right now”

 He lets out his own laugh, and it’s nice to see him genuinely smile, “not like that”

 His chest is still moving with his breathing, still slightly laboured, and your eyes glance over him for a moment, taking him all in. His hair has somewhat come free of his bun, so you tuck a strange behind his ear in a gesture that makes Aemond’s heart squeeze.

 “I’d love to”

 The smile on his face is unmistakable, and not a hint of smugness to it.

 Once he’s pulled his softening cock from your core and you’ve both cleaned yourself up, it overcomes both of you that you can’t keep your hands off each other, can’t spend a moment without lips locked. Everyone’s definitely going to notice.

 “I don’t want to hide it from anyone, if you don’t” you say in a whisper.

 He squeezes your ass lovingly, giving it a playful swat, “I certainly don’t”

 A few hours later, once the sun has started to hit the tops of all the buildings and the sky turns a hazy red with the sunset, you sit beside him, legs dipped in the pool and a shawl pulled around your shoulders from the slight chill. You let your head rest on his shoulder, utterly content as he kisses the crown of your head, in a shockingly loving gesture despite how he was railing you earlier. One strong arm wrapped around your waist.

 “Fuck” you whisper.

 “What” he asks amused.

 “I owe Baela 5 gold dragons”

taglist (sorry if I missed anyone, I’m crap, bold means I couldn’t tag)

@jacevelaryonswife​ @lovelykhaleesiii​@urmomsgirlfriend1@iiamthehybrid​ @namelesslosers​  @chainsawsangel​ @warmfieldofgrass​ @mynameisbaby9​ @afro-hispwriter​ @tempo-rary-fix​ @toodlesxcuddles @definitelynotsatans​ @svtansdaddyx​ @tssf-imagines​ @darkenchantress​ @vrtualfairy​ @fan-goddess​ @skikikikiikhhjuuh​ @helaenaluvr​ @sarahkimtae​ @blackxisxmyxcolour​ @castellomargot​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @julczimozart​ @amazingdisneyfansblog​ @slutforaemond@thedamewithabook@Iiamthehybrid@sahvlren@Whoknows333@cosmoeticss

[tkwrites]

Back to You - Matthew Tkachuk x Jessie (ofc)

gif from @drysaladandketchup

Title: Back To You

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Matthew Tkachuck  x Jessie (ofc)

Warnings: Swearing, lots of flirting. Slow burn. Smut at the end: fingering (f receiving), oral (f and m receiving).

Summary: Jessie and Matthew meet at a New Years Eve party and form an instant connection. When a fire rips them apart, can fate bring them back together? 

Word Count: 12,700

Comments: This is my entry for @wyattjohnston‘s winter fic exchange written for @luvsherleafs

This is by far the longest piece I’ve written for Tumblr. I had a really clear vision of where I wanted it to go, and I eventually got it there. In the end, I’m so proud of how it turned out. I hope you enjoy, and would love to know what you think.

Many, many thanks to Mari @eyesthatroll and Bre @fallinallincurls for looking this over and assuring me it wasn’t garbage when I was in the trenches of writing. 

Me and you  We were a strange situation  And kissing you  Felt like Christmas Vacation  An exciting place to escape  Sometimes I wish that I could've stayed Cause you were my favorite Holiday  -Christmas Vacation by LØLØ

Back to You

Matthew couldn't tear his eyes away from her and knew he wasn't the only one. 

With dark hair cascading down her back in a long, shiny waterfall, big eyes and a plump little mouth that looked just made for kissing, she was the kind of classic girl next door people wrote into movies and books for the hero to find his way back to.

He especially liked what she was wearing. Bare legs weren’t really something he would advise at two hours to January in Ottawa, but at least it wasn’t a mini skirt like most women were tugging at constantly. Her shorts had a gold stripe on the sides that caught the flashing lights, as if they might have once been extravagant tuxedo pants tailored explicitly to show off her curvy legs. Her dark shirt had flecks of something metallic in the fabric - a wrapped and tied number like he’d never seen before. 

Laughter was all over her face as she danced with the people around her. Slamming her foot (clad in gold oxfords) down with the beat before circling her hips in time with the music. 

“Do you need a towel, man?” 

“What?” Matthew asked, pulling his eyes away to look at his brother.

“I asked if you needed a towel,” Brady repeated, failing to keep the teasing smile off his face, “for the drool.”    

Matthew flipped him off, and Brady laughed. 

“Go talk to her,” he encouraged, pushing Matthew off the bar stool. “I’m sick of watching you sit here and stare at her. Go do something about it.”  

He hesitated. It hadn't been that long since he’d broken up with Heidi.

“Go,” Brady repeated, shoving him across the walkway onto the dance floor. “Move on.”

Although he wasn't sure if he was ready to meet someone new, Matthew knew Brady was right. He’d be kicking himself come morning if he let a woman this good looking go without at least shooting his shot. 

As he weaved through the crowd of dancers, his competitive drive growled in his chest, pleased. He’d be damned if he let someone else get to her first.

“Your admirer is coming this way,” Roger said, nodding to someone over Jessie’s shoulder. 

She glanced over. A tallish guy with curly hair was walking right at her, a determined intensity all over his handsome face. Her gaze swung back to Roge, eyes wide. 

“Just letting you know so you can prepare,” he said with a wink. “I told you those shorts would bring all the boys.” 

Although she'd made them for the occasion, she didn't think they would pull the amount of attention they were getting. Her clothes often garnered a lot of lingering glances, though they usually came from other women. 

Someone tapped on her shoulder and she turned.

The same guy was standing in front of her. He was much taller up close, had light eyes, and his hair looked like it might be blonde. It was hard to tell under the dim dancefloor lights. 

He flashed her a charismatic smile. The gap between his front teeth only added to his charm. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, leaning in and yelling to be heard over the music. 

Jessie wasn’t generally the type to accept drinks from random strangers, but this guy was hot, had nice style, and of all the dudes that had stared at her that evening, was the first one to do something about it. 

“Sure,” she yelled back. 

“Wanna go to the bar?”

After she nodded and they started walking through the mass of dancers, she glanced over her shoulder. Roge lifted his phone out of his pocket and shook it at her. His flashlight turned on. 

She sent him a text about going to the bar and his flashlight, made sure the ringer was turned on, and slipped her phone back into her shorts pocket. Another good thing about making her own clothes: she could make the pockets as big as she needed.

Matthew couldn’t keep the smug smile off his face at the glares and disappointed looks that followed them to the bar.

“What'll you have?” the bartender asked as they came to a stop in the corner of the club. It was a bit quieter. 

“A mojito, please” she said, before gathering her hair into a fist behind her and running her hand down the length of it. 

Momentarily distracted by her actions and the flash of dark red, the bartender had to ask him again what he wanted. 

“Beer would be great,” he said, flashing a bright smile, “whatever light you recommend.” Glancing back at the girl, he ran a hand through his hair to make sure it wasn’t doing something stupid, and said, “I'm Matthew, by the way. “

“Jessie. Are you from around here?”

“No, but my brother lives here. You?”

“My family is from here, but I'm usually in the states.” she said, watching the bartender muddle the mint in her drink. He didn’t seem to be doing anything funny with it. 

“Yeah? Which one?”

“New York. Well, technically New Jersey, but I study in New York.”

“What do you study?” Matthew asked, lifting his beer bottle to his lips. 

“Fashion.”

“I should have guessed,” he said. 

“You should have?”

“Yeah. You have great style.”

The smile that spread over her face made him want to kiss her. 

“What do you do, Matthew?” she asked, as she brought the black straw in her drink to her mouth. She caught it between her tongue and teeth before her lips wrapped around it. 

His train of thought ran off the rails with visions of her mouth wrapping around other things.

Thankfully, autopilot kicked in and saved him from looking like a total creep, “I play hockey.” 

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “I'm based in Florida.”

“Why the hell are you in Ottawa for New Years,” she asked, aghast, “when you could be somewhere warm?”

“We played here yesterday, so my family are all staying with my brother. Why are you here?”

“My dad grew up here, and wanted us to experience the joys of the frozen tundra at Christmastime,” she said with a long sweep of her hand, as if gesturing to the whole country. 

He laughed again, and held her eye contact. It was so intense, she was the one to break it. 

“Anyway,” she flipped her free hand, “what do you do for fun?” 

“I honestly don’t have that much free time, but I always enjoy a good libation,” he said, holding up his bottle. 

A wide smile spread over his face when she clinked her glass against it as she said, “amen.” 

“And I like to hang out with people and I play a lot of other sports.” 

“I will never understand why athletes always want to play other sports. It’s not like I sew upholstery when I’m not making clothes.” 

He laughed, loud and genuine, and Jessie felt her heart flutter a little. 

“It can be hard to turn off the competitive drive, so it helps to have somewhere to channel it. So did you make these clothes?” he asked, nodding at her outfit. 

“Yeah. I found this gold fabric,” her fingers ran down the stripe on her left hip, “and fell in love with the idea of tuxedo shorts for New Years. I play around with a lot of menswear styles.” 

“I like them,” he said. If he, by some miracle, got nominated for another award, maybe he would get a gold striped tux made. 

“We have to wear suits to all of our games, so I’m always looking for something new and interesting,” he said. 

The conversation lulled for a moment, and he continued, “what do you do for fun?” 

“I also enjoy a good libation,” she clinked her glass against his again, “and I like to play tennis and I love movies.” 

The rest of the night was spent in that little corner of the bar, talking and laughing - Matthew was funny. Quick with a movie quote and a sarcastic comment in her ear. She told him about coming to the club with her cousins, only one of whom she really knew, and he told her about coming with his family. A younger, married brother, and a sister still in college. 

He refreshed their drinks and marveled at finding a woman who could keep up with his banter, genuinely laughed at his jokes and seemed interested in him as a person rather than as Matthew Tkachuk. 

They talked about hockey, she knew some as her dad was Canadian, but not a lot, then about fashion. 

She admitted one of the reasons she’d said yes to his drink had been his pants. 

“Listen, more American men need to understand how many more girls they’d get if they just wore the right pants!” 

He cocked an eyebrow. 

“Your pants are fitted properly so I can see your ass and your thighs, and it makes you about a thousand times more attractive.” 

A cocky smile spread over his face, “Oh, yeah?” he asked, leaning into her space. 

She gulped, “yeah. If more men wore pants like yours, they wouldn’t be single.” 

He stayed in her space, and her eyes darted to his lips. He licked them, just to see what she would do at the flash of his tongue. 

Her eyes darted back to his and her cheeks pinked. He smiled. 

The music changed to a slower, more house-style song he recognised. Jessie bumped her shoulders to the beat. 

“Do you want to dance?” Matthew asked.  

“Sure.” 

They moved to the floor, and he watched, entranced as she swung her hips in rhythm.

When she turned around, pressing flush against him, his right hand immediately grasped her hip, as if that might provide some kind of grounding from the fluttering feeling in his chest. 

It wasn’t like this had never happened - girls grinding up on him. It happened quite a lot, actually. Sometimes without any kind of consent. But this? Jessie? He couldn't get enough. She was pretty and they had the kind of instant chemistry you couldn't fake. 

He found himself thinking about her beyond that night. A first since Heidi. 

For her part, Jessie couldn't stand not touching him any longer. The chemistry between them was so palpable, she was surprised other club goers weren’t getting caught in it. Feeling him move against her made desire rumble to life in her belly, growling to be released. 

They danced that way for - Matthew lost track of how many songs. She felt amazing pressed up against him. He was so in tune with how they moved together, the dancing felt like foreplay. 

When the countdown to midnight began, she turned to face him. They were still so close - she could feel his body heat seeping through his clothing and into hers, see the way his button down was just starting to cling to his skin. 

Matthew looked down at her, not hiding any of his interest. She looked back with so much hope and lust in her eyes, his stomach twisted. 

“Three, two, one!” the crowd cheered. 

He leaned down, then paused, “okay?” 

Rising onto her toes, she closed the gap between them in answer. 

All of their flirting was leading up to this moment, and Jessie wasn’t disappointed at all. It was as if everything around them faded into soft focus and the din of the crowd melted away. It was better than she could have imagined. His tongue brushed along hers, and heat flooded her stomach. 

Matthew angled closer when her fingers slid into his hair. His hand splayed over her lower back. He wished he didn’t have this beer bottle so he could have both hands on her.

It went on and on for what felt like ages - a promise of things to come. 

Someone cat called from nearby, and Jessie broke away, pursing her lips to hide how flustered she felt. At least he was as breathless as she was, his chest expanding to the confines of his shirt with every inhale. 

They stared at each other for a moment longer, not quite engaged with the crowd, which was growing increasingly restless with the New Year in full swing.

She was debating between kissing him again, or asking if he wanted to leave all together when the lights went out, plunging them into total darkness. 

The suddenness of it made her laugh. She thought it must be some kind of prank until all at once, a mono tone alarm started to scream. Lights began to strobe - harsh, bright flashes that instantly made spots appear in her vision. 

The word “fire” was popping up in the crowd.

Just as he was starting to register what was happening, murky water cascaded from the ceiling. 

The club was dissolving into chaos. Matthew snapped out of his reverie, and looked around for Taryn. 

“I have to find my sister,” he told her.

As Jessie's face was illuminated by the flashing lights, she looked stricken and worried. 

“I’ll call you, though!” he promised.

“But -” she watched him run off, knowing she hadn't given him her number. She didn't even know his last name. 

“Jessie!” Roger yelled from somewhere to her left. Her eyes roved for him, and landed when he shouted again, waving his cell phone flashlight in his own face.

She ran to him, and they followed the swarming crowd outside. 

To her complete surprise, smoke was pouring out of the building and the fire department was pulling up. She had been certain someone had pulled the alarm as a prank. 

“Fuck it’s cold out here,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, as if that would do any good. Her coat was inside, a pair of wool tights tucked in one of the pockets. She'd planned to put them on in the bathroom before they left. 

“We should call it,” Lacey said. “Catch the next train. If we hurry we won't have to wait for another one.”

“But my coat’s in there,” Jessie complained. She hadn't made it, but she may as well have, she’d altered it so much. It was the best thing in her wardrobe. 

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Roger assured, “but Lacey’s right, we should get out of here. We’re soaked and it’s below freezing.”

It wasn't just the coat. She didn’t want to lose Matthew. She hoped she might run into him in the parking lot, but had yet to see him.   

Roger and Lacey were right. Her wet clothing was already starting to freeze - stiffening and biting into her skin. Glancing around the crowd once more, she hoped she might see him, but there were too many people moving in too many different directions. 

As Roger pulled her away, she hoped against hope the universe would bring them back together. It had been so long since she'd felt a spark like she had with him.

“Who was that girl you were kissing at midnight?” Taryn asked, her tone suggestive as she waggled her eyebrows at her oldest brother. 

“Her name is Jessie,” he said, looking around for Brady. He finally spotted him with Emma and some of the Sens guys across the parking lot. 

“Seemed pretty serious.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “We got on, that’s all.” 

“I’ve seen you look like that before, and that was not just getting on with someone,” Taryn argued. “I hope you got her number.” 

“I did,” he assured, then stopped dead in their pursuit through the crowd. 

Taryn ran into his back. “Matthew!” she complained. 

He was too busy digging his phone out of his pocket to apologize or move out of the way. Thankfully, it wasn’t ruined. As he opened his recent contacts, though, he found his fear confirmed. 

Taryn pushed on his back, “Matthew, move! I wanna get inside.” 

The older brother in him took control, wrapping his arm around Taryn's shoulder to lead them to Brady and finally into the car to go home. 

As they settled into the SUV, heat blasting to melt the ice that had formed in their hair and on their cheeks, Emma punched Matthew in the arm. “That was some New Year's kiss, Matty.” 

The disappointment of reality bit into him, and he snapped, “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Whoa,” Brady said in warning. 

Matthew leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. The possibility of her was still buzzing on his skin. 

The future was being ripped out of his grasp. How could so much hope be dashed so quickly? So completely? He'd been making plans in his head. Immediately, where they were going to spend the night if she was willing. Beyond that, how he would see her whenever he was in New York, and beyond that? Hopefully something that ended up with them together. 

“Oh no,” Taryn whispered, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. “You didn’t get her number did you?” 

He shook his head. 

“Oh, Matthew,” Taryn said, laying a hand on his back, “I’m sorry.” 

The rest of the night, he lay in Brady’s guest bedroom, Taryn in the bed next to his, and tried to relax. It wasn’t working. He could still feel the phantom of her grinding up against him, and if he thought about it too much, he got hard. 

Opening Instagram, he typed “Jessie” into the search. There were pages and pages of results. He scrolled through, hoping he might see her face. When the photos started to blur together, he clicked off the app. 

Feeling hopeless, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Jessie’s face was etched on the inside of his eyelids. He saw her smiling, heard her laugh ringing in his ears, felt her lips so perfectly fitted between his own. They should have been tangled up in bed together. The actuality of his loneliness was a slap in the face every time he turned over. 

It was after four when he finally fell asleep.

He woke sometime around 10am when Taryn sat by his feet. 

“Mom wants to know why you’re still in bed,” she said when he sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. “I told her you were hungover.” 

“Thanks,” he said dryly.  

“Listen, I heard you last night.” 

His hands dropped and he gave her a suspicious look. “And what did you hear last night?” 

She took a deep breath. “I heard you crying.” 

A groan fell out of his mouth as his head tipped back. He didn’t even try to deny it. It hadn’t lasted long, the crying, but he hadn’t been able to stop it for a few minutes. He was sure Taryn heard his sniffling. 

“Is this about that girl?” 

“Listen, Taryn, I don’t want to -” 

She cut in, “Matthew, I saw the way you looked after you kissed her. It’s the same way Brady looks at Emma.”

Shit. He was in deeper than he thought. And they hadn’t even slept together yet. He didn’t even know her last name. If he knew her last name, he’d be able to find her. 

Letting his hands fall in his lap, he slouched over, and let the reality of what happened wash over him again. He would get over it eventually, but now? It felt too close to push aside. 

Taryn’s hand came to rest on his knee, “I was thinking, what if she left something at the club? I mean, people must have left coats and things with the fire alarm. We could at least try. See if you can leave your number for her, or something.” 

A spark of hope flickered to life in his chest. “Yeah, that’s a really good idea.” 

Jessie wasn’t too surprised to see the tent in front of the club when they pulled up. The post on their Instagram page said they would be available for people to pick up their belongings all day. Two women were sitting there, bundled up to the hilt. As she got closer, she saw the propane heaters. At least that was something. 

“How can we help you, darlin?” 

“Yeah, I was here last night, and I hoped I could get my coat that I left with the coat check?” 

One of the women stood, “what does it look like?” 

“It’s a black wool trench, and it has sort of wavy lapels,” she demonstrated on herself. “There’s a pair of gray wool tights in the left pocket.” 

She walked over to a rack behind their table.

The Club had seen better days, that was for sure. Some of the glass had been blown out from the heat, and there were charred bricks on the front from where the flames had licked out the windows. 

“Is it condemned?” 

“No, but it’ll take us a while to remodel, especially with the winter,” the other woman said, giving her a smile. 

“Did they find out what caused it?” 

“Not yet, but we’re pretty sure it was some faulty wiring.” 

“Here we go. Is this it?” The other woman, the one with pink hair, turned the coat around. 

Jessie smiled, relieved, “Yes.”

As she reached for the coat, she debated about the next part. What was the harm really? She knew she would be kicking herself all the way home if she didn’t. 

“I know this is a little strange, but I met someone last night, but we were separated before we could exchange numbers, and I wondered if he’d come by?” 

“I’m not sure. We’ve seen quite a few people today.”

“His name was Matthew, and he had curly hair, light eyes, and he was tall.” 

They looked at each other, each shaking their head. “I don’t think we’ve seen anyone like that today.”

She wasn’t sure what she would have done if they had. 

“Do you want to leave a note for him, or something?” 

She chewed on her lip, petting the smoke soaked coat draped over her arm. If he happened to come by, it might work. But what if he didn’t? Or what if some other guy with curly hair came by, and they gave him her note? 

She shouldn’t have even asked. It was fruitless. What did she expect? That he would just walk out of the building: here I am! 

“No,” she said, defeated. “I was just hoping.”

“Well, love has a way of coming back when you least expect it.” 

It felt like such a throw-away thing to say. “Yeah, I hope so,” Jessie said, turning back to her parents' car, parked in the lot.  

Matthew walked up to the women sitting in front of the club. He knew he was used to the Florida warmth by now, and just despised the cold on principle, but sitting out here? In this? They were nuts. 

“Hi, honey,” the older, motherly looking one greeted, “did you leave something here last night?” 

Yeah, my future, he thought. 

“No, I was hoping,” he reached up to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, I met someone here last night and I was -” 

“Are you Matthew?” the other woman interrupted. 

His eyes shot to hers. “Yeah,” he said, breathless with anticipation. 

“Oh no,” the women looked at each other. One had her hand over her mouth. 

“Someone was just here looking for you.” 

Hope started hammering in his chest. 

“Pretty little thing, lovely red hair.” 

“Yeah,” his heart was running so fast he felt like he might be sick. 

“I’m so sorry honey, we asked her if she wanted to leave a note or something, but she decided not to.” 

Now he really was going to throw up. 

They had been so close. So close to meeting again. Why hadn’t she left a note? Why didn’t he just get her number last night? 

Because he’d planned on asking her for it in the morning. 

“Well, thanks anyway,” he said, hand falling limply at his side. 

“Good luck. I hope she finds her way back to you.” 

“Thanks,” he said, turning back to the car. Taryn was watching with rapt anticipation. He shook his head and her expression fell. 

**Nine Months Later**

For the first time since moving, the bright Florida sunshine didn't make Jessie smile as she got out of bed. That September morning, she woke up to an anxious fluttering in her chest, trying to tell herself it was going to be a day like any other. She would go to the shop and sew that new sculptural blazer for the window. She'd help Raul with his clients and do the same things she’d been doing every other work day for the past three months. 

It didn’t matter that some of the Florida professional hockey team were coming in for suits for the new season. She’d already checked, and there wasn’t a Matthew on the books. 

Even if he did show up, he had probably moved on. It was just her romantic streak that kept him alive in her memory. 

After a few miserable, sulky hours on New Year's Day, Roger had finally suggested she look him up. 

“I don’t know his last name, Roge.” 

“Didn’t you say he plays hockey in Florida?” he’d asked, pulling out his phone. He found a roster for her to look through - all men in blue, none of them Matthew. There wasn’t even a Matthew on the team. 

“I think it’s hopeless,” she said. 

“Hold on, there’s another one.”

“Another what?” 

“Another team.” 

“Here, I think this is him?” he turned the phone around and Matthew was staring at her, a smug little smile on his face. 

Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were blue. And his hair was a dark blonde, with almost a gingery tone to it. 

“Matthew Tkachuk?” she asked, trying to pronounce all the letters. It came out a bit of a garbled mess. 

“Look him up on Insta.” 

So she had. She found him easily. He was verified with over 150 thousand followers. 

She messaged him, hoping. 

Hey this is Jessie from last night before the fire stole our thunder. 

He’d never even seen her message. She had checked every day for a while, then every couple of weeks until she'd all but forgotten about it, moving on with her life. 

Pulling out her phone now, she scrolled down to the thread. The date was still staring at her, no read notifications in sight. 

Matthew wasn't even all that great. That’s what she told herself every time she went on another failed date with some guy so boring she wanted to just drop off the chair and fall asleep on the bar floor. If she let herself believe he really was as charming and interested and built just for her as he’d seemed, she would never go on another set up or app date again. It had been the alcohol and the rush of the new year that had painted him in such rosy light. It was likely he was just another boring dude like all the rest. 

The pink lace she put on under her clothes before going to work was for her, and she wasn’t hoping anyone would get to see it. 

She absorbed herself with structuring the new women’s blazer all morning until the appointment at 2. 

Matthew wasn’t entirely certain why he’d agreed to go with Benny that afternoon. He already had a suit guy in St. Louis. He didn’t need another one. But Sam was persuasive, a few other guys were going, and Matthew was always looking for something new. When you have to wear the same item of clothing over and over again, might as well make it something interesting. 

Walking into the little shop, he could see why Sam liked it. There were racks and racks of interesting fabrics. Subtle and bold patterns and solid colors he never would have considered for a suit before. 

As the other guys got to browsing, Matthew wandered over to the wall of photos. In every one, a short, dark haired man was posing with various people in beautiful suits. Sam was up there as were Barky and Bob. He didn’t know they came here too. Apparently, this was the place to be. 

Something rustled in the back, and he turned. Nothing was there, but a glass cabinet that housed a display of cufflinks. 

“Matthew?” 

His head shot up. 

A pretty young woman who wasn't in any of the photos was standing in the doorway behind the display case, holding up the heavy velvet curtain. He could see a row of sewing machines under her arm. She had on a blue skirt and a green blouse. A fabric flower was attached to her wrist, a porcupine of pins sticking out of it. 

His breath locked in his chest. She was here. In Florida. She was in front of him. The girl from the New Years Eve party he couldn’t quite convince himself to let go of for half a season and the whole summer. 

Her hair was shorter than it had been - ending at her collar bone - and a dark auburn red. He supposed it had probably always been that color. She had creamy pale skin with a dusting of freckles across her nose, and shit, had her eyes always been that green? 

He’d never seen her out of that harsh club lighting, he realized. Of course she would be prettier in the daylight. 

The murmuring behind him hushed into silence, and his mind went completely blank, as if he’d never had a thought in his life. 

“Hey,” he heard himself say. The shock of seeing her was so intense, he couldn’t remember her name. He’d just been thinking about her last week after another failed third date.

Sam shot him a questioning look.  

He was in shock. He was overwhelmed. He was… he was… he was acting like an idiot. 

His heart thundered in his ears. She was looking at him like she was trying to figure out if he remembered who she was. 

“Jessie,” she said hesitantly, pointing to her chest. “From New Years?”

Didn’t he remember? His face was branded into her memory. The dream of him - of them - roared to life in her chest unbidden. Her body reacted instantly, as if no time had passed. 

Right. Jessie, Jessie, Jessie, he thought.

Cool. He needed to play this cool. “Oh, hey,” he said. “How’ve you been?” 

As soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Hope fell right off her face. He saw the moment it happened, and it sliced through him like a knife to the gut. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

She wasn’t some old acquaintance he hadn’t seen in a while. She was the girl he kept coming back to. The one he thought about after failed dates or that relationship that started at the beginning of the summer only to fizzle out six weeks later. She was his, it might have been, girl.

The man walked in then, forcing her into the shop. “Ah, I see you have met Jessica. She just graduated from FIT in New York,” he bragged, “and is helping us expand into womens suiting. She’s also a marvelous tailor, so she’ll be helping with the suits as well. Jessica, these are the clients I was telling you about. From the ice hockey team. Good clients. They like interesting things.” 

She painted a smile on her face that almost looked convincing. “I can’t wait to help.” 

“You,” Raul said, “I don't know you.”

“Matthew,” he said, holding a hand out to the older Italian man. “Sam said you make the best suits on the eastern seaboard.”

Raul pulled out the leather bound book that served as his ledger, and flipped to the section Jessie had been looking at that morning, simply marked, Hockey.

“Last name?” he asked. 

He spelled it out, then pronounced it, “Tkachuk. The T is silent.” 

Raul nodded, noting the silent letter next to his name. 

“Jessica and I will take your measurements,” he said, gesturing him over to the plinth near the mirrors surrounded by dark wood. 

Jessie picked up a notebook and followed Raul. Matthew had definitely recognised her, he’d been shocked by her appearance, even. Then he treated her like…like a one night stand or an acquaintance he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to reunite with. It hurt more than it should have to have the things she was telling herself come true. 

She had hoped Raul would let her help the other clients, but luck seemed to be against her. At least he hadn’t handed her the tape. She didn’t know what she would have done if  her hands brushed against Matthew’s body. She already felt on edge just being in the same room as him. 

“Very important to get the thigh measurement with these hockey players,” Raul was saying as he threaded a measuring tape around Matthews upper thigh. “Big legs.” 

“It’s from all the skating,” Matthew said, almost out of habit. 

Jessie was doing a very good job of not looking at him. She had a little notebook in her hands and she kept her eyes trained on it as she wrote down every body part and corresponding number Raul called out. Upper thigh, lower thigh, calf, hip to knee, knee to ankle. Matthew had been measured like this before, so he just stood still and let the man do his work. 

“So, Jessie, right?” Josh asked, leaning onto one of the mirrors, nearby where she was standing, not quite in Matthew’s peripheral vision. 

She hummed in agreement. Raul was still calling out numbers to her, and she couldn’t divide her focus that well. 

“What brought you all the way down to Florida from New York?” 

Matthew clenched his jaw to keep from telling Josh off. As much as he wanted it, he didn’t have any claim over Jessie.

“Um,” she said, still jotting numbers. She spared a glance at him. He had long, unruly, dark hair, dark eyes, and a goofy smile. She smiled back, “can you give me just a minute to finish up here?” she asked, pointing at Matthew’s stomach with the cap of her pen. 

Josh blushed, “yeah, of course.” 

She went back to her notebook, face impassive once more. 

Josh stayed where he was. 

“So Chucky, what do you think about the schedule this year?” 

Matthew shrugged, then snapped himself back into place at Rauls reprimand. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Jessie gagged internally. hoping that wasn’t really his nickname. Chucky was either a possessed doll, or a possessed rat mascot, neither of which she liked to think about for very long. 

They continued to talk about something with their team. When she and Raul finished, she handed the notebook off to him, which he would transcribe into the ledger. He still didn’t trust her to do it the way he liked. 

Matthew didn’t move off the plinth, but she turned to the other man, “sorry, what was your question?” 

She sounded so polite, so formal. Sure, they’d only met that one night, but she hadn’t been guarded like this at that club in Ottawa. He supposed that was probably his fault. God, why was he such an idiot?

“I wondered what brought you to Florida. It’s a long way from New York.” 

“Oh, the heat,” she said. “I was so tired of the north-east cold.”

“And you know Raul…”

“He and one of my mentors are great friends, and he got us in touch. I have some family down here, and wanted to live somewhere warm for a change. Raul wanted to expand into some womenswear, and tailoring happens to be one of my specialties.” She said it without much emotion. Just stating the facts. “We met, I made him and myself a suit to audition, and here we are.” 

Matthew opened his mouth to say something about how he was glad she was here, but she walked away before he could force the words out. 

Josh gave him a look that said something like, women, right? 

Matthew walked away before he said something stupid.

“While I update the rest of your measurements, Jessica can help you with fabrics. She’s excellent with color. Jessica, why don’t you get the samples and help them pick out what they need.” 

She nodded, went into the back and came out with five big binders. She set them on the table, and flipped some of them open. 

She helped Reino pick out a dark teal, a blue and a few subtle plaids before moving on to someone else. 

Matthew was the last at the table. 

“What are you looking for?” she asked, trying to keep her voice and demeanor level. No need to let him know how her heart still pounded just looking at him when it was so obvious he didn’t care about her. 

“I'm always looking for something interesting,” he said. “What would you suggest?” 

Her eyes darted up to his face. His eyes were so blue - much more intense in person. He had the kind of eyes poets say hold summer skies and glacial lakes. It was the first time she really saw them, and they took her breath away. 

“Well,” she forced herself back to work, “you could pull off almost anything with your coloring. How adventurous are you?” 

“I’m willing to try anything once,” he said, trying to sound flirtatious. It just came off desperate. 

She chewed on the inside of her lip. “How many suits are you looking for?” 

“Eight,” he said. 

He didn’t need eight suits. But if it kept him at this table for longer, he would buy as many as she would sell him. 

“All for here?” 

“For here?”

“To be worn here, in Florida? The others have mentioned needing some for travel.”

“Oh, I’ll need three or four for travel, three at least for the cold.” 

They talked through colors. She opened a binder she hadn’t given anyone else. None of the other guys were as handsome, or seemed as adventurous with their style as Matthew. 

“If you’re brave enough, I think this lilac would look really good on you,” she said, pulling the pastel fabric sample off the board and holding it up. He was more bronze than he had been when they’d met, but it would still look good when his summer tan faded. 

“Okay,” he said. He trusted her style. He’d never worn lilac, but if she thought it would look good, he’d give it a shot.

Jessie got the feeling he was just agreeing with her to get this whole thing over with. Still, she couldn’t help pulling the best fabrics for him, even an expensive light blue linen blend that would make him look like Brad Pitt in Santorini. He didn't balk when she mentioned the price. He didn't even seem to notice. 

“Chucky, how did you know Jessie?” Bennet said as they walked down the block to the public parking they’d all met at. 

“A party,” he said, trying to sound non-committal. 

People got into their cars, but before Matthew could leave, Benny came up to his driver's window. “You wanna tell us what’s going on?” 

“You’re never this quiet,” Reino said from his place on Benny’s left. 

Matthew sighed and got out of the car. This was going to take a while. Sam had always been a bit of a brother to him and he knew he wouldn’t let him go without an explanation. 

“Jessie and I met last New Years Eve,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the hood of his car. 

“Okay, and what did you do? Hookup and never call her again?” 

“No!” He sounded too defensive, even to his own ears. 

Reino raised an eyebrow, “so what happened?” 

His hands raked into his hair so he didn't have to look at them as he told the story. “We met at this club in Ottawa, and we had this amazing connection. I've never felt anything like it before. Like, boom: Instant chemistry.” It felt even worse to say it out loud. 

Both guys just waited. 

“But the club caught fire.” 

“Wait, what?” Benny asked. “Really?”

“I know, man,” Matthew said, throwing his hands up, “and I thought I had her number, so I left her to find Taryn, but I didn’t, and I couldn't find her after. I didn’t think I was ever going to see her again, and then, all of a sudden she was here,” he gestured in the direction of the shop, “and I just…” 

“Fucked it?” Benny asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“So go back and talk to her,” Reino said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

He scoffed. “What would I say? ‘Hey, sorry I completely forgot your name and treated you like our connection didn't matter, but I actually haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for the past nine months?’” 

“Better than not saying anything,” Benny said. 

Matthew shook his head, “I can’t go back in there.” 

“Why not?” 

“You didn’t see her face. There’s no way she wants to talk to me.” 

A few weeks later, Jessie was piecing Matthew’s jacket from the blue linen in the back of the shop. The fabric was so light and delicate, she couldn’t even have music going while working with it. One wrong move and there would be pulled threads all over the place. She knew Raul would disapprove, but she gave herself twice the seam allowance to make sure she could finish the inside raw edges. Otherwise the fabric would start to pull apart - eventually, quite literally, fraying at the seams. 

“Uh, hello?” someone asked. 

She jumped and dropped the scissors. She let them clatter to the floor with a curse. She’d been so focused on the task at hand, she hadn’t heard the bell ring. 

“One second,” she called, before securing her pattern with an extra pin, picking up the scissors and coming out to the sales floor. 

“Hi, sorry about that. I got kind of in the zone. What can I do for you?” 

It was one of the hockey guys. The one with strawberry hair. She couldn’t help but glance around him to see if he’d brought anyone with him. 

She shouldn’t even be looking for Matthew, especially considering he'd ignored all of her phone calls about his suiting. All the same, seeing him again had awoken her longing in a way she couldn’t quite tamp down. 

“Raul said I had some suits he wanted me to try on,” he said. 

She asked his name, then went to the back to retrieve the garment bag. She remembered this one. She’d convinced him an oxblood red wouldn’t look too harsh with his coloring, and she was hoping he would like the results. 

Giving him a pair of pants, she left him in the changing room while she cut extra threads on the inside of the jacket.

Immediately, she could see the pants were a smidge too loose. They talked about his preferred fit, and he avoided looking at her as she pinned the inner thigh. All men reacted this way, but to Jessie, this was all about the garment. As far as she was concerned, he was a mannequin under these clothes. 

Finally, the questions that had been ruminating in her mind got the best of her. “So, did Matthew get traded or something?” 

“Chucky?” he asked, surprised.  

“I guess so.” 

“No,” he was laughing as he said it, “he has seven more years on his contract.”

“Oh.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve just called him a few times about measurements, or fittings, and he’s never called back or come in.”

“Really? He told me he was here yesterday.” 

Of course he was coming in on her day off. Why had she even told him that in the message?

She stood up, and moved onto the jacket after asking him if he ever planned to wear it with a sweater. He wasn’t sure. Or if she should shorten the sleeves. He liked them a little longer. 

“Chucky told us what happened in Ottawa,” he said. 

Jessie felt her shoulders tense, but kept working. “Yeah?” she asked, not daring to look up. All this still felt too close to the surface, and she didn’t want this man she barely knew to know how much it had hurt when Matthew brushed her aside. 

“Yeah, he said he looked for you after the fire.” 

“I tried to stay, but my cousins and I were soaking wet and it was below freezing so we had to catch the train.” 

“He said he went back the next day and you’d been there, but didn’t leave a note.” 

That made Jessie gasp. Audibly. She blushed and tried to brush it off, “I was worried it might go to the wrong person,” she said, “plus I messaged him on Instagram and he never responded.” 

He hummed, debating the best way to approach this. He wanted to do some digging without letting on that’s what he was doing. “He said you guys had quite the connection.” 

Was she really going to go into this with one of his teammates? She hadn’t talked to anyone about it but Roger. Words bubbled up into her mouth so fast, she guessed she was. 

“Yeah, we did.” God, why did she have to sound so moony?

“Do you think there’s still something there?” 

“He made it pretty obvious there’s not.” 

“I don’t think he meant to do that. He was pretty shocked to see you.”

“I was shocked to see him too, but I didn’t just brush him aside.” 

“Listen, Jessie - it’s Jessie, right?”

She nodded.

“Matthew can be pretty thick. He gets so in his head, sometimes he doesn’t really think things through, but he told us what happened, and how much he liked you, and he said he fucked it and you wouldn’t want to see him again.”

She hummed, and got him a new suit to try on. She’d been right. The oxblood did look killer on him, like he could be in a GQ shoot. He looked impressed. 

“Would you want to see him again?” Sam asked. 

“If he came in here himself?”

He nodded. 

“I’d at least give him a chance.” 

Even though she would usually just move on, she’d never felt anything like the instant connection she and Matthew shared on New Years. It was the kind of thing she thought only existed in books and rom coms. Experiencing it in real life made it into something she couldn’t just walk away from.  

They talked about where they were from and made comfortable small talk for the duration of the fitting. She told him how relieved she was when Raul trusted her enough to run the shop by herself one day a week. 

“Listen, I’ll tell Chucky to come by next Wednesday. We’re leaving for the opening roadie that day, but I’ll try to get his head out of his ass before then.” 

She giggled. 

He could see why Matthew liked her, and could see how their personalities would match up well. She was kind and easy to talk to - quiet at first, but got louder as she got comfortable, and Chucky was just loud all the time. He could tell they both valued relationships more than things. 

The next week, after their final practice before the season opening road trip, Benny cornered Matthew in his stall. “You need to go see Jessie.”

“She doesn't want to talk to me, man.”

“The way she asked me about you last week would say otherwise.”

He scoffed. 

“I told her you still like her -”

“You what?!”

“She brought you up first, and you weren't doing shit, so don’t tell me I'm ruining your plans or some bull. She said she's called you a bunch of times, but you only show up when she's not there.”

“It's just easier,” Matthew mumbled. It wasn't his fault she told him when she'd be gone.

Benny rolled his eyes. “Dude, wake up. She still likes you.” 

Matthew looked at him, skeptical, “she told you that?” 

“Yes, but she didn’t need to. The first thing she asked me was if you’d been traded. We weren’t even talking about you.”

 A ridiculous amount of hope lit up his face.

“I knew it! You still like her too!”

What’s not to like? Matthew thought.

“She runs the shop on Wednesdays. Just go talk to her.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I went there last Wednesday, dumbass. She told me.” 

Matthew hesitated, still unconvinced. 

“Go. Now. I’ll drive you myself if I have to. I’m sick and tired of you moping around when there’s such an easy solution to your problem.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” Matthew said, holding his hands up in defeat. 

“And check your instagram. She said she sent you a message.” 

Usually when she walked onto the sales floor after the doorbell dinged, Jessie would have to search for someone among the racks of fabric samples and ready to be tailored suits. This time, a man was standing at the counter, watching her with the same determined intensity he’d shown the first time they met.

He was here. Finally. Four of his suits had been sitting in the storage room for more than a week, further proof that he was avoiding her. 

“Hi Matthew,” she greeted hesitantly. 

“Hey Jessie.”

They looked at each other in awkward silence for a moment. 

“Can I help you with something?” 

“Yeah, Raul told me some of the suits were ready?”

“They are.”

“I just came to pick those up.” 

“Oh,” the tiny spark of hope fizzled out again. Sam must not have made it through to him. 

She looked instantly downcast. 

To hell with it. He couldn't make any more of an ass of himself. “And I wanted to see you,” he blurted.

“You wanted to see…me?” she repeated, pulling a pen from her ponytail to start fiddling with it. He didn’t know why, but it struck him as such an endearing gesture. 

“Yeah,” he said, heart falling. Was Sam setting him up? He was a prankster, but not to this level, usually. Not when it was this important. 

“Why would you want to see me?” she asked, feeling that guard go up. Every time she got her hopes up about Matthew, he tore them down.

Thoughts raced through his mind. He could lie so easily, but where would that get him? It was time to just own up and blurt it out. Her reaction be damned. “Because I really like you.”

She looked surprised. Way more surprised than he’d expected. “I thought you didn’t remember.”

“How could I forget?” he asked. “I thought you must hate me since I forgot your name and acted like such an ass that first day.”

Shaking her head, Jessie wondered how on earth they got into this situation. “I mean, I was disappointed, but then, you backed it up by never coming to the shop when I was working, I thought you must be trying to avoid me.”

“I was.”

One of her eyebrows shot up.

“Not like that,” he floundered. “Like, I couldn’t stand to see you and remember how well we got on, and how much I like you, and how pretty you are when I knew I'd blown my chance and you hated me.”

She let out a laugh. “That makes no sense. What did I ever do to make you think I hated you? I called you every time something was finished, or we needed a new measurement. I gave you the best fabric selections.”

Had that been because she liked him? “I don’t know, it did in my brain. I guess I was so embarrassed I forgot your name when I like you so much, I was telling myself you must be angry with me.”

Jessie rolled her eyes. “You know, Matthew, for someone so smart, you can be pretty dumb.” 

“You think I’m smart?” He’d been called many things in his life, but smart was rarely one of them. 

“Yes. I think you’re very smart, except when it comes to romance, I guess.” 

He chuffed a laugh, grabbing the back of his neck. “I really fucked this one up, didn’t I?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to be cool and hoping against hope that this last shot would land on target. If it didn’t, she was kicking him out and scrubbing him from all her memories. “I think you might still have a chance.” 

His eyes snapped to hers. “Yeah?” 

She nodded. 

Heart pounding, but trying to keep that flirty, cool skin on, he walked around the counter to remove the barrier between them. 

Knowing he still liked her brought all those feelings from the club rushing back. She’d never felt like that with anyone else. If only he knew how many times she’d replayed that night. How many times she remembered how he felt and how no one had ever kissed her like that, or swept her off her feet so quickly.

“Play your cards right,” she said, feeling breathless with the nearness of him. “And I think you might get another chance at bat.”

As he leaned in closer, her pupils dilated, and her eyes darted to his mouth. He licked his lips just to see her force her eyes back to his like last time. Her blush was even more adorable in the daylight.

“If I swing, what are my odds of getting a home run?” 

She laughed. It didn’t break the spell. It turned out that palpable chemistry was still between them, just waiting to be ignited. Their eye contact was hot and glued together.

“Maybe not today,” she said, “but I think it’s a safe bet that you’ll get on base.” 

Time moved in slow motion as he leaned in further, looking at her mouth, then her neck, then her cleavage, barely visible through the two undone buttons of her starched, white shirt, before snapping back to hers as she stopped him with a hand pressed tightly to his chest.  

“We can’t do this here. There are cameras on the floor,” she said. 

His head dropped forward in defeat. “I have to leave for Vegas in two hours,” he said, feeling more than a bit desperate. “I really don’t want to wait until I’m back.” 

“I don’t want to either, but I’m telling you, if Raul catches me making out with a client, I’m going to be out on my ass.” 

“So what do we do?”

She thought for a moment before an idea struck her. “Follow me.” 

She made a big show of walking into the back, digging his new lilac suit out of the garment bag and hanging it in the private dressing room. “You go in there. When I come back and ask you how it’s fitting, you need to tell me something needs to be adjusted and invite me in, okay?” 

“Right. Yeah, okay.” 

She put out the sign that said she would return soon and locked the front door. It wasn’t that unusual to lock up when they were helping a high profile client, anyway. Plus, Wednesdays were always the slowest day of the week, hence why she was allowed to man the shop alone. She just hoped Raul wouldn’t have any reason to review the tapes. 

Her whole chest felt like it was full of helium as she walked back to him. Were they really about to do this? 

“Everything going okay in there?” she asked. 

“Something’s wrong with this suit jacket,” he said. “Can you come take a look?” 

Upon entering, she found Matthew with his shirt already off.

Sweet Jesus, she was not prepared for that. For his sculpted body, and his chest hair, that tapered into a thin trail running down the center of his abs before it dipped enticingly into the waistband of his pants. 

“That’s not fair,” she said. 

“What’s not fair?” he reached for her and drew her to him, hands splaying over her waist.

“You’re already half naked,” she said, eyes wandering down his chest again. 

“You could be too,” he teased, playfully pulling at the shirt tucked into her waistband. He didn’t actually pull any of the fabric loose, which she appreciated. He was letting her set the pace.

“Damn, Jessie. You’re the only woman I know who can make a pant suit look sexy.” 

She laughed, and pulled the whole shirt over her head, leaving her in a white camisole, a black lace bra peeking out from underneath it. 

“Do you always wear black lingerie to work?” he asked, voice gone husky as he ran a finger under one of the straps. 

“Only when I think you might come in.” 

His eyes snapped to hers, thrilled but questioning. 

“Sam told me he was going to try to get you to come by today.”

“So this really is for me?” he felt dizzy with the prospect.

“No. It’s for me. I put it on this morning, thinking that at the very least if you came in and you were an ass again, you wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing how hot I look in my bra,” she said, before stripping off the camisole so he could see exactly how hot she looked in her bra. 

Seeing her, in black suit pants, a gold belt buckle flashing at her waist, and her sheer, floral lace bra that plunged between her breasts, the breath was sucked out of his lungs. 

His ongoing ache for her intensified, pressing insistently against the confines of his jeans. 

He stepped toward her when she once again stopped his progress with a hand to the chest. “I really like you, Matthew,” she said, swooning a little at the happiness that lit up his face, “but I was serious. I don't want to have sex.” 

“Can you define that a little more?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like you don't want oral sex, or…” 

She wouldn't have guessed oral sex would even be on the table. She practically had to beg past boyfriends for it. 

“I mean I don't want to have penetrative sex. The first time with someone new is hard enough. I don't want to make it more complicated by taking a bed out of the equation.” 

“I get that. Plus, it'll give me something to look forward to when I get back,” he said with a grin and a cheeky wink. 

God, maybe they really were made for each other. 

As his left hand slipped to the back of her neck, the other spread over her rib cage, thumb brushing against the soft lace that cupped her breast. 

She sucked in a breath, letting her hand ghost up his torso over the ridges and valleys, until her fingers hooked over his shoulder. The other slid around to his back.

It felt like it had been a million years since they’d last done this. Not the touching, not the skin to skin, which felt like…it felt like heaven, but the longing. 

Jessie was looking at him with that same hope and lust in her eyes. It made his stomach twist with that same wanting to fulfill them both. 

It was so long coming, he wanted to savor every movement, every breath, every glance. Her eyes were so green. Somehow even more green up close. 

Finally, when their lips met, she sighed, melting against him. 

This was all together more intense and less hurried than their first kiss had been. It was a slow burn, a thorough seduction, a fulfillment of everything Matthew had been dreaming of that night they lost each other. 

When he pulled away, their heavy breaths crashed together. 

Fingertips sliding up her back, he tried to memorize the feel of her. Her skin was so soft. 

Jessie was growing impatient. Any other moment, she would love this slow seduction. Most of the time she felt like men moved too fast. Today though, she had so much sexual frustration built up for him that the weight of desire was already heavy between her legs. 

Taking matters into her own hands, she leaned in and trailed her mouth along his jaw before nipping the soft spot behind it, just under his ear. He shuddered when she soothed it with her tongue. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long,” she confessed, barely above a whisper.

That snapped him into action. Taking her waist, he pulled her flush to him, and crushed his mouth to hers. 

There was the passion she’d been looking for. 

As they surged together, she felt so restless and turned on, she tried to hook a knee over his hip in an attempt to slot him between her legs. 

Groaning against her, his hand slid over her rear and down her leg to keep it elevated and wrapped around him. 

Kissing her was so much better than he remembered. How was that possible? She was so good in his dreams. In reality, she was living - flesh and bone and wanting - and he couldn’t get enough. 

Moving to her neck, he sucked her pulse point. He felt her tremble against him, but her hand still came up to pull him back to her mouth. “Nothing visible, okay? I have to go back to work.” 

He nodded and caught her lips. It might be too late for that one, but he wouldn’t do it again. 

Her desire was a wildfire, consuming every part of her. It wanted to consume him, too. 

When she tucked two of her fingers behind the button of his jeans, a moan fell into her mouth. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” 

She tore the zipper down, and palmed him through his boxers. His hips jumped into her hand as a moan ripped from his throat.

His fingers fumbled to her belt buckle and paused. 

“Please,” she whimpered. 

He was clumsy with desperation and the distraction of her kissing and biting his neck, but he finally got it open and her pants undone. 

The weight of the buckle sunk the waistband to the floor with a heavy clink, and Jessie stepped out of it, kicking off her shoes at the same time. Sinking her hand into his pants, she shoved them down his muscular legs. 

He nearly fell over in his attempt to get out of his shoes so he could free himself from the shackle of the fabric around his ankles. 

Jessie giggled, and moved with him as he stepped away. He finally got his first look at her in her underwear. Made of some fabric he couldn’t name, they were also black and cut high on her hip. He could see it was a thong in the mirrored wall behind her. 

His jaw grew heavy with longing, but managed to make his mouth work enough to tell her, “you’re so beautiful, Jessie.”

“Thank you. I think you’re really handsome.” she said, running a hand down his chest. And he was - he could be a living sculpture in the Greek wing of the Louvre with his curly hair and sculpted body. 

Sliding his hands over her hips, he pulled her to him once more. He hesitated for a moment, and Jessie took charge, too impatient to wait. “Matthew?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I really appreciate you getting my consent, I really, really do, but you can just move forward. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” 

“Okay.” 

She captured his mouth again and the fire roared to life between them, stoked hotter by so much skin touching skin. 

Sneaking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, he pushed them down, trusting that she would stop him if she wanted to.

She didn’t want him to. 

His fingers traced back up her leg and when he stroked her, she broke from the kiss to let her head lull forward onto his shoulder. Her panting breaths were the stuff of his dreams. She was already so wet, and he wanted nothing more than to bring her pleasure. 

“Oh,” she moaned when he explored more, running a couple of rough fingers from her entrance to her throbbing bundle of nerves. She rocked into his hand, and he took the hint, caressing her over and over again until she was trembling and moaning. 

“Matthew,” her voice was wrecked: desperate and thick with longing. 

“What do you need?” 

“Your fingers,” she begged, “inside me.” 

He obeyed, following the rhythm she set. Pressing the pad of his thumb to her clit, a wicked, self satisfied smile took over his face as her head tipped back, and her breath hitched. 

“Oh,” she moaned, “just like that.” Her hands slid to his arms, clinging to his biceps. 

He wanted to eat her pleasure for breakfast - sustain himself with it on long, lonely nights. He knew he would dream of her voice and all her little sounds through the whole ten days away, anxious to come back to the very actual reality of her. He kept having to remind himself this wasn’t a dream.

He rutted against her thigh in an attempt to pacify some of his own lust. 

Body shaking, she cried out. 

Matthew continued to stroke and leaned in, kissing her right through her orgasm.

Feeling her core pulse around him again and again, the release was so long coming, it seemed to go on forever.

As her breathing finally slowed, he eased his fingers from her. 

“Oh my god,” she said, still clutching him to stay upright. “I’m so pissed we had to wait nine months for this.” 

Laughter barked out of his mouth.

When she could make her hands work, Jessie pulled his hard, hot length from his boxers, and stroked a few times. 

His mouth fell open, and he panted, “it’s bullshit, right?”

“Such bullshit,” she agreed, devouring the pleasure that washed over his face.

“Wait,” he said, grasping her wrist. “I want this to last.” 

“You already got me off,” she said. “What do you need to wait for?” 

“I'm not going until you've come at least twice. What's the point of women being able to have multiple orgasms if I can't give them to you?”

That was some flawed logic, but she allowed him to pull her hand away. She wasn’t going to say no.

“Can I taste you?” 

“If you want,” she said hesitantly, as if he might be pulling some kind of prank. She'd never had a man offer to go down on her first.

“I do want,” he said, guiding her to lean against the mirrored wall and sinking to his knees. “I've been wondering how you taste since we met.”

Maybe that oral fixation all the girls talked about online was actually true.

“Can you put your leg up here?” he asked, sliding a gentle hand to the back of her knee, and lifting so the joint bent around his palm. He guided her foot to the stool. 

When he looked up at her, his blue eyes shining with excitement, she retraced their steps to get there. Not even ten minutes before would she have expected to end up with Matthew Tkachuk eating her out in the back dressing room. 

“That feels okay?” he confirmed, palm stroking back up her thigh.

God, he was even making sure she was comfortable. Her whole body fluttered in anticipation. “Yeah,” she breathed. 

Every other time a man had given her oral, they were fast and sloppy, obviously trying to get it over with as soon as possible. With Matthew, he seemed to be dragging it out for his own pleasure, tasting and teasing like he just couldn’t get enough. He was driving her crazy - winding her tighter and tighter. 

“Matthew,” she moaned. It was better than any of his dreams. Better than any fantasy. “More. Please. More.” 

She felt his lips briefly curve into a smile against her before he really got to work. Licking with the whole flat of his tongue, then flicking with the tip, he was suddenly everywhere. 

Her hand scrambled for purchase on the wall behind her. Met only with the slick mirror, her fingers fumbled into his hair, searching for anything to hold on to. 

He groaned into her, almost as if in pain.

“O-okay?” she asked, voice shaking as she attempted to loosen her grip.

When she felt his response but couldn't hear it, it took all her willpower to push him away. She was not going to hurt him, especially when he had been so insistent on her consent. She could feel his hard breathing rushing over her and it set her skin to trembling. 

“Okay?” she asked again. 

“Good,” he assured, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “I'll let you know if you pull too hard,” he said with a wink before diving back in. 

Her head thunked back against the mirror. He really was made for her, that was the only explanation. 

 God, she was perfect. She tasted like paradise, like water in the desert, like his favorite meal after a long period of fasting. She satiated his every craving. 

His competitive drive growled into a higher gear, demanding to please her until she whimpered and begged. He licked and sucked and spelled his own name with his tongue, gauging where she liked to be touched most. 

“Matthew,” she moaned. “Oh my god, Matthew.”

Pleasure began to tingle low in her pelvis. It loosened her hips and turned her legs to putty. She'd never had a man take this much interest, let alone put so much effort into her pleasure. She moaned something unintelligible, even to her own ears.

He slipped a finger into her, and she cried out. Her hand tightened in his hair when he added another. 

A whimper on every exhale, she panted, trying to keep some semblance of control. It shattered when he gently kneaded her g spot. 

Pleasure thundered low in her belly, and she was forced over the cliff, glad to know Matthew would be there to catch her fall. Her vision turned hazy as she crashed. Time and space exploded into nothing more than shadowy constructs. She heard herself shout as if listening from another room.

When she came back to herself, Matthew was still languidly tasting her folds, one of his forearms braced over her hips to keep her upright. 

Pushing him away from her core, she tried to catch her breath. 

As he sat back, he wiped his face with his free hand. The satisfaction of pleasing her rumbled contentedly in his chest. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I fucking love you.” 

He laughed, a look of delighted surprise on his face.

The reality of what she'd just said hit her and Jessie covered her face with her hands, “oh my god. I can't believe I just said that out loud.”

“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me during sex.” 

Relief sunk into her bones. Soul mates. They had to be soul mates. 

A few moments later, she finally found her feet and pushed away from the mirror.

“Alright,” she said, reaching for him and wrapping her fingers around his erection. He stumbled toward her, anxious to feel more. 

She smoothed the precome leaking from the tip onto the shaft with her thumb. “I think it's my turn to taste now.” 

Matthew wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected her to do, but lowering to her knees in front of him right away hadn't been at the top of the list. He expected her to jerk him off for a minute, maybe kiss and tease him a little. Not that he was complaining. If she was willing, he'd gladly accept. 

“Do you like more suction or more mouth?” she asked before licking the underside of his shaft. 

Oh God.

“I dont - I don't care.” He wasn't sure he was even going to last long enough for it to make a difference. He felt so close to the surface already. 

“You don't care?” she repeated, sitting back on her haunches to look up at him. 

With her mouth off of him, he could explain his reasoning a little better. 

“Frankly, I've been dreaming about this for so long, I could almost bust just from seeing you on your knees.” 

She was flattered and also a little relieved she wasn't the only one. 

“Okay,” she said as she reached up to pump him a few times. “Something we'll figure out later.”

The fact that she was thinking about the future, too, made him weak. 

Her lips wrapped around his tip, tongue caressing, and he was right there. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Jessie,” he moaned, “god that feels good.”

Was it the best blow job ever? Objectively no, but it was Jessie, so it felt more important than any that came before it. He felt like he was fifteen again, getting his first head, amazed by everything and having no restraint. 

“I'm - I'm gonna come,” he moaned, trying to pull back so as not to come in her mouth. 

Jessie would rather have it in her mouth than all over her, so she gripped the backs of his thighs to keep him in place. 

“Oh, fuck.” How could she possibly be this perfect? 

She sucked and caressed and he exploded with a long low groan. 

She kept licking, albeit more gently, until he pulled back, sensitivity making it too much to bear.

“Holy shit,” he said. The room felt muggy and he felt content in a way he'd been longing for since they'd lost each other. 

“Yeah,” she agreed. 

He helped her to her feet, and pulled her against him, wanting to feel her close. 

A while later, her phone, which had fallen out of one of her pants pockets, buzzed and the time flashed. 

“Shit! I have to go,” he said, scrambling for his clothes. “I still have stuff to pack!” 

“When’s your flight?”

“In an hour, but I have to drive home and then to the airport.”

They rushed to get their clothes back on. He hated seeing her bra disappear under the camisole again. 

As soon as he was dressed, he grabbed her jaw and kissed her. Her hands floated from tucking her shirt to cup his face. 

He'd just had her, but the wanting roared back to life as soon as she touched him, as if his body was trying to remind him what was possible between them. Like he could ever forget. 

“This was so amazing. I promise I'll take you on a real date when I'm back, and I'll call you while I’m gone,” he said. “I'm sorry I have to dash out of here.”

He kissed her again, hard and purposefully, before rushing out of the dressing room. 

“Wait!” she chased him onto the sales floor still tucking her shirt, “my number. You need my number.” 

“Oh my god,” he slapped a palm to his forehead. “I can't believe I almost left without it again!”

She giggled, “you're not getting away from me this time.”

They exchanged numbers and Matthew raced home. 

He rushed to pack the last of his things, grateful for the example his dad set, in always having a base bag packed the day before a road trip just in case something came up. 

He was the last one on the plane, a first for him.

“Chucky just got fucked!” someone yelled. 

Matthew felt his cheeks get hot. His hair was probably wild from Jessie's hands, and he could feel the love bite on his neck, a sure sign it would soon be a full blown mark. 

Reino met his eyes and raised a brow. Jessie? he mouthed. 

Matthew nodded. 

He wiped the back of his hand over his brow in mock relief. 

“Oh thank God,” Bennett exclaimed from across the aisle. “I thought I was going to have to lock you two in a room until you got together.”

Matthew laughed. 

When he got settled, he sent Jessie a text. Just on the plane, but I'm missing you already. I'm back on the 14th, so pencil me in for that date. 

I have you in for the weekend. We have a lot of time to make up for. 

Fanciction Masterlist

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Unpredictable, Part 10-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: It's been a long time coming but it's here. The next part will be the finale. Thank you all so much for your support. I love reading all your replies and messages :)

Content warnings: Swearing and some violence

Word count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist

Many experts are concerned with the pervasiveness of serial killers in a supe society. Some people propose intense ideas, like using AI or supes with predictive abilities to kill potential serial killers beforehand. Others…

I paused my fingertips over the keyboard and sighed. “It’s okay, just breathe and think of the words. Dr. Melrose is one of the nicer professors, anyway.”

Then, my fingertips started moving again.

Others think this is too extreme and argue that serial killers have a right to live as much as anyone else. Which is the dumbest idea on planet earth.

Nope, can’t submit that.

I punched my thumb on the backspace button and stared at my two semi-decent sentences. Then, I glanced down at the clock in the bottom right corner of the screen and sighed.

The essay had a minimum fifteen-page requirement and it took me an hour to come up with two sentences.

I groaned and leaned back against the swivel chair and stared up at the stark white ceiling. Last year’s campus library renovation included an impressive update of the study rooms, including making them sound-proof, power-proof, and equipped with the most state-of-the-art technology.

My textbooks and notebooks were sprawled around the table, each with color-coded highlights and meticulous notes that did nothing but make my head spin. Usually, I spent most of my writing time trimming down my page length, especially when it came to ethical issues around crimefighting. But my brain couldn’t focus despite the distraction-free environment.

No matter what I did, I kept picturing the looks on Jordan and Marie’s faces when I told them I couldn’t go to the town hall. They both looked like I had taken away a large chunk of their hope.

But I couldn’t have been that helpful anyway, I thought harshly.

Sure, I helped them gather information and connected some dots but anyone could have done that.

I clapped. “Y/N, you have to stop thinking about them and the town hall. You need to finish this paper.”

Just when I grazed my keyboard, the study room door swung open. I jumped and turned to ask the person to leave, but stopped when I saw Coco standing in the doorway. In her cropped black Tommy Hilfiger blazer and matching cigarette pants, she looked like a debate moderator. Her hair fell in perfect curls and her eyes slightly narrowed at me.

“Hey, you could have knocked,” I said as light-heartedly as I could.

Coco let the door close softly behind her before sauntering over to me. “My bad, I was in a hurry. I thought I’d find you here since you weren’t at the house.”

Coco’s tone was much shorter than usual and she kept her gaze on me. My stomach churned and I straightened up.

“Coco, it was a directive from Sydney, not me,” I explained.

Coco sighed. “I don’t know why I thought I could surprise you when you know everything.”

“Not everything.”

“Anyway, what the hell is that directive about? How does she want to ‘pursue our ambitions’ but not voice our opinions?” Coco scoffed. “I knew her whole I-care-about-all-women schtick was bullshit.”

“Did you talk to her about it?” The look Coco gave me made me shrink back into my chair.

“Why do you let her walk all over you? She made you do her dirty work.”

“As a secretary, I do have to send out communications about a variety of things; it’s part of my role. Besides, it wasn’t my decision.”

“Don’t hide behind your role, Y/N. You’ll do anything to stay good with them, even if it means missing out on a historical moment.”

I hesitated. This would not be the last time that two polar opposite politicians would face off on core issues, but it would be the first time that the main issue was supes.

“I get that you care about this since it’s your major and everything but, I have to set a good example for the other girls and the initiates.”

Coco rolled her eyes. “Do you know what the other girls and initiates are doing? They’re arguing with Sydney right now and some are trying to figure out if a shapeshifter can somehow change their appearances. Everyone wants to be a part of it; Sydney’s just scared of fallout and I know that you know that.”

While I did have many ideas about why Sydney made the decision she did, it didn’t matter. I tried to push back but it failed and I had to deal with the consequences.

“I know she’s trying to protect Si Chi’s legacy and reputation and even if I don’t agree with it, I don’t have a choice.”

“Damn it, Y/N, you always have a choice! You always choose to follow the rules but guess what? Rule followers get forgotten in history; it’s the people who stir up shit that gets remembered.”

I glanced at my laptop. “Not always.”

“Well, most of the time but that’s not the point.” Coco pulled the chair from the other side of the table around and sat next to me. “You could do some real shit in the real world if you weren’t so caught up in your own head.”

Her words made me pause. This wasn’t the first time that Coco tried to push me to “think bigger” and it was usually flattering. This time, I felt myself get more and more nauseous.

I sipped some water. “I don’t think you always have to rebel to create change.”

“There’s a time for everything.” Coco leaned back in her chair and glanced at her phone. “I have to start walking to the union before everything gets too crazy. I hope you’ll have my back at the house.”

She didn’t wait for a reply and slipped out of the room almost as quietly as she entered. Immediately, I slumped in my chair and pouted.

Not everyone could be like Coco and take risks like that. In her situation, rankings didn’t matter, she just had to graduate and network like crazy. It was different for me and anyone else who was trying to at least get a city contract; rebellion did not look good on a resume.

Coco isn’t the only one risking their reputation, my brain reminded me.

I groaned and rubbed my hands over my face. Even though Jordan was always hellbent on climbing to number one, they wanted to expose everything happening at GOD U. According to Cate, Jordan had a whole meltdown when Andre and Marie’s rankings forced them to number five. Despite all that, they wanted to do the right thing.

And then there was Marie. She’d unexpectedly received everything any GOD U student could want on a silver platter: a high ranking, backing from Vought, and promotions on social and regular media. But she never wavered when it came to the Woods.

And it’s not like I didn’t want to go to the town hall, I couldn’t. There would be cameras everywhere and the news would get back to Sydney faster than A-Train. Her icy glare sent a chill down my spine at the thought.

I shook my head.

I can’t focus on any of that, I had to focus on this essay.

Finally, I started writing:

Other people suggest that such practices are much too inhumane and that serial killers must experience early interventions as soon as possible. However, in such a situation, it is near-impossible to determine the best practices much less who would deliver them.

I smiled to myself as I kept writing and breathed a sigh of relief once I finished my thesis statement.

“Great, now all I have to do is----”

“Y/N, what the hell!” Emma demanded.

I jumped and turned to the study room door. Emma’s face was beet-red and she had detergent stains all over her sweatpants. The door slammed behind her as she stormed over to me.

“What?” I asked.

Emma shook her head. “You know what. I just got off a video call with Marie; what the hell happened?”

My stomach dropped and I almost let my head plant on the desk.

At this point, it was like the two of them were haunting me. After a couple of deep breaths, I explained Sydney’s order and how I had to break the news to Marie and Jordan. As I spoke, Emma’s expression became more solemn.

“Why would you do that? Things were going so well,” Emma mused.

“I have to keep my position in Si Chi, Emma, and I can’t do anything that messes with it.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

 I hesitated, wondering if it was a little bit of both. Emma plopped down in the chair and dropped her bag on the ground.

“I know that you’re a good-two-shoes but you’re not that way all the time. I mean, you do regularly sneak off campus with the others,” Emma pointed out.

“Not so loud. You never know who could be listening,” I insisted.

“Anyway, I get that your parents really screwed you up but, when do you get to live your life?”

The last part sounded like something a really good therapist would say. Even if those words did come from a therapist, I still wouldn’t know how to answer. Every move I made since middle school was to get me to be a successful (married/engaged) supe and that was always enough for me. Mom and Dad both seemed please with each stride I made towards that goal, but it was always limited and I never stopped to think about what I wanted.

All I knew was that I was dying to know why Shetty wanted Cate and me to be friends, how long the Woods existed, and why she created the virus. I also knew that the thought of Jordan or Marie getting hurt because of all this made my chest ache.

I fidgeted with my hands. “I am living my life.”

“Are you? Do you really want to be in the library while everyone’s at the town hall? Do you really want to give up on looking into all of this?”

I snapped my eyes up at Emma. “Of course, I want to go but I also have to play it smart. Why can’t anyone understand that?” I sighed. “I just got here, Emma, and I don’t want to lose it, I can’t lose it.”

Emma frowned. “You didn’t try to look into the future about this.”

She was confident and her gaze never left mine. I wanted to push back but, there was no point. Out of everyone, Emma knew me best and there was no point in hiding. So, I explained everything about my power loss to her. The words felt like I was digging my nails into an open wound and I could feel my throat constricting towards the end.

“Shit,” she muttered.

I nodded. “I really can’t do anything out of line now; I have no leverage for Si Chi and if they found out my powers are gone, they’d kick me out immediately. Plus, I’ll get expelled, and then what? Work for my mom or dad?”

“I’m really sorry about your powers, Y/N, but you don’t know that they’re gone for good. Plus, there are plenty of other ways you can be successful here and once you graduate. You could write a tell-all book, work in research, or model like I’ve been telling you to do forever!”

I snorted at her words, which made Emma burst out laughing. I don’t know how long we laughed for, but it felt good. However, when it stopped, a realization dawned on me.

“I don’t know, Emma, things don’t tend to work out for me if I don’t follow a plan,” I expressed.

Emma wiped some tears from her eyes. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe my powers going away because Cate’s brainwashed or getting caught up in a conspiracy that could get us all killed or maybe having your new boyfriend attack me.”

Emma flushed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

I rolled my eyes. “But that all happened because I was going off the plan. I was supposed to focus and crack the Top Fifteen this year.”

“But Jordan and Marie weren’t in your plan, and they were pretty good.”

I sighed and rested my head on the desk. At first, I thought our conversation was going so well but then Emma had to bring them up.

“And it’s over before anything really even started.” I propped my chin up on my hands. “But that’s probably a good thing since I need to stay on track. I’ve only gone up to Sixteen.”  

Emma pursed her lips and straightened up. Wordlessly, she stood and slowly made her way to the other side of the table. She paced back and forth for a second before slamming her hands down on the desk.

 “No, you don’t get to talk like that. In our fifteen years of friendship, I have never seen you look at or act the way you do with Marie and Jordan. You look so happy, and you deserve to be happy, I don’t care what anyone else says and you need to start believing that.”

For a second, I thought my vision blurred but it was the tears welling up in my eyes. I willed them to stay away for a second.

“But what about Si Chi?” I wondered.

Emma groaned. “If they’re going to kick you out because you went to the town hall to be with your girlfriend and partner, then they’re idiots.” Emma stood. “But you have to decide which is more important.”

The issue was that the thought of losing either of them made me nearly hyperventilate. Si Chi was a beacon of social acceptance, but Marie and Jordan made me feel accepted. No matter how uncomfortable I felt sobbing in front of them or not wanting either of them to see me in bad lighting or makeup-less, they made me comfortable.

“They don’t want me back. They’re both…unstoppable and I’ve proven to be the exact opposite.”

“Come on, Y/N, stop with the self-doubt. I can promise you, Marie and Jordan want to be with you too, they just don’t know how to reach out.” She smirked. “You should have heard Jordan ranting about how they’d knock Sydney out of her power trip; Marie had to cut the call short to calm them down.”

I laughed a little at that. “Jordan always said that Sydney was the most mediocre telekinetic on campus.”

“But the point is they both still care a lot about you. They’re obviously hurt but you’re not totally unforgivable.”

“Thanks, Emma.”

“And if they did break up with, you always have me whenever I’m not with Sam.”

“Gee, thanks. Where is he, anyway?” “Locked away in my dorm. Could you imagine him out there in the craziness?”

“Yes.”

Emma opened her mouth to argue but got cut off by her phone alarm going off. “I have to go switch out the laundry. I hope one cycle is enough to get blood out.”

 When she left, I mulled over everything we talked about. Were she and Coco on the same wavelength or something? In both conversations, I could have started screaming at either of them but buried deep down, I knew that they both had good points.

Brink was always saying how we have to take calculated risks as heroes and it was important to minimize the damage. Even though he wasn’t my favorite professor, he did have some good points.

Maybe there was a way to minimize the damage with Si Chi and my relationship.

The thought made my hands shake as I packed up my things.

Fifteen minutes later, I was desperately trying to stop my shoulders from hiking up any further to my ears as I walked to the union. The protestors’ shouts all across the green were deafening and did nothing for my pounding head and heart. Throughout the crowd, several people were filming for social media and I did my best to avoid them.

After a few minutes, I spotted Jordan and Marie standing a couple of yards away from a side entrance that was guarded by two burly men. My heart skipped a beat as I watched their focused eyes on each other as they spoke.

Here goes nothing.

I slowly sauntered up to them, my mind racing with something, anything decent to say.

“…well, we have to figure out a way in,” Jordan muttered.

“Hi,” I chirped.

When they both faced me, I had to force myself not to try to run. Marie’s eyebrows raised and Jordan slightly narrowed her eyes at me.

“What are you doing here?” Jordan asked.

I swallowed. “I’ve had a couple of pretty intense conversations that helped me realize that you were both right: the Woods is bigger than GOD U and I should help expose it. I’m sorry about earlier, I was scared and I still am but, I want to help in any way that I can.”

The next couple of seconds felt like a million years. Finally, Marie smiled and relaxed.

“Does this mean that you don’t care about Si Chi anymore?” she asked.

“No, I’m petrified of all the cameras but I’m trying really hard not to think about it,” I admitted.

“Well, it’s a good first step. We’d love your help,” Marie declared.

Jordan paused before sighing. “Just don’t run off again.”

I agreed. “So, you’re looking for a way in?”

Marie nodded. “But we can’t get past those two without causing a scene.”

If I had my powers, solving that would have been easy but I was on my own. I glanced at the two burly guards and cocked my head.

“Did you try flirting?” I asked.

“No, and don’t even think about it,” Jordan threatened.

I turned to her. “You’re jealous about a suggestion?”

Jordan shrugged and Marie chuckled.

“Fine, that’s off the table.”

“Do you know a teleporter?” Marie asked.

“Well, there’s Gia Sharpe from Beta Ro but she’s probably inside already,” I offered.

Jordan started rolling her eyes but paused and grinned when she saw something. “That might not be necessary.”

Marie and I followed her gaze and I gasped when it landed on Justine and Renee. The two were standing on a nearby green and Justine was trying to direct Renee to hold the camera to really capture her dismayed expression. I slid behind Marie and put my head down.

“What’s wrong?” Marie asked.

I huffed. “It’s Justine.”

“Do you two have issues besides what she did to Emma?” Jordan asked.

“Sort of. She and her friend tried to rush Si Chi and after everything with Emma, I couldn’t let that happen,” I explained.

“And?” Marie prompted.

“And, I explained my concerns to the other sorority presidents, including Sydney and none of them wanted to promote her behavior.”

Marie smirked and Jordan’s grin deepened.

“You blackballed that bitch from every sorority?” Jordan teased.

“No, I just gave the other presidents information I thought they could use,” I defended.

“That’s pretty badass, Y/N,” Marie stated.

I smiled as my stomach flipped. “Anyway, I know that she doesn’t know that I did it but I have a feeling that she would take any opportunity to make me look bad.”

Jordan glanced at me for a second before turning her gaze back on Justine. Jordan’s jaw clenched and there was a new glint in their eyes that only appeared right before a fight. As she started approaching them, I moved to stand next to Marie.

“What are you doing?” Marie whispered.

“Causing a distraction,” Jordan called over her shoulder.

I gulped and stared as Jordan called Justine before delivering a right hook to her jaw. Justine stumbled for a second before straightening up, her jaw askew. She snapped it back into place with a flick of her hand and hissed something back at Jordan. Seconds later, Jordan was beaming in the middle of a full-on brawl.

“Does Jordan always get like this when they fight?” Marie asked.

“Yes. One time, they almost got us kicked out of a club because they sent a group of guys to the hospital.”

“Almost?”

“Cate.”

“Oh.”

I smiled as Jordan dodged one frat boy’s sloppy left side kick only to spin him to collide with another frat boy that was approaching her from behind. “They look really good when they fight, though.”

Suddenly, the guards rushed past us, and Marie grabbed my arm.

“Let’s go before you start drooling.”

Victoria’s makeshift green room was immaculate and complete with various notes for the town hall and water bottles and snacks. She also looked immaculate in her navy-blue suit and perfectly coiffed dark hair. Her eyes were wide, eerily wide, and it felt like she saw everything. Those eyes watched Marie with intensity as she explained everything with the Woods and handed over the drive.

Victoria rubbed her thumb over the device and pursed her lips. “What you just expressed to me is a serious matter. Have you told anyone else?”

“We don’t trust anyone else,” Marie answered.

“Understandable.” Victoria’s slow head nod made my blood boil and I didn’t know why. “Of course, I will get this into the right hands as soon as possible.”

“And we won’t get in trouble?” I asked.

Victoria faced me. “Of course not. If anything, you and your friends should be heralded as heroes. However, I understand your concerns and appreciate your courage in coming to me.”

I nodded stiffly. “Thank you for your time. You probably have plenty of other last-minute town hall things to do.”

“Yeah, thanks for listening,” Marie agreed as she stood.

“I do but, I also wanted to speak with Marie for a moment, alone.”

Her words made my heart rate pick up and I could hear several alarms going off in my head. Something was off with Victoria but I didn’t know what and I couldn’t just drag Marie out of there with no explanation.

I turned back to Marie, and she nodded. Slowly, I stood and one of Victoria’s assistants guided me out of the room. I couldn’t stop myself from pacing up and down the hallway. There was no telling what they were talking about, and I hated not knowing.

If only---

No, that won’t be helpful. I just had to be patient and wait for her.

But patience was hard when my gut felt so uneasy like it was on a rocking boat. I’d never met Victoria until then and I knew Coco thought she was an acceptable candidate. So, I had no cause to feel the way that I was feeling.

Maybe it was paranoia or stress; both were known to make people perceive things differently.

But my intuition was never wrong.

Finally, Marie walked out of the green room, her eyes wide but she seemed okay.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she confirmed.

As soon as we were out of earshot, Marie started rambling but I got the gist: Victoria was a supe with the exact same powers as Marie, she and Marie were both in the same facility as kids, and Victoria was Marie’s benefactor.

“She even told me about how she can see people’s internal organs and that it happens when you focus enough,” Marie gushed.

“That’s cool,” I mused.

The sunlight was refreshing when we got outside but it didn’t distract from the rowdy protests in front of the union. Each “Supe Lives Matter” sign made me cringe but both sides were extremely passionate. It was hard to understand why people loathed finding a middle ground so much.

“What’s wrong?” Marie asked.

“Nothing, I’m glad that we handed over the information and she was receptive,” I stated.

Marie frowned. “You’re holding back.”

The last thing I wanted to do was start a fight and I could already feel the roots of tension appearing.

“I just…I don’t have a good feeling about Victoria,” I confessed.

Marie paused in her steps and I hesitated before facing her. “What do you mean? She was our best option and she’s the one who got me in here, she can’t be that bad.”

“I know and I’m not saying she is, I just feel like something’s off.”

“Don’t start that self-sabotaging bullshit,” Marie warned.

“I’m not. You and Jordan want me to be honest and that’s what I’m trying to do. I can’t ignore my gut, Marie.”

Marie opened and closed her mouth several times. The furrow between her eyebrows was deeper than usual and I wished that I knew the best thing to say. It was difficult to tell my girlfriend that I was happy that she knew who her benefactor was but that I was also suspicious of said benefactor.

“Let’s go find Jordan,” Marie muttered.

I quietly agreed and followed Marie to the protest area since that’s where most people were. Even though I saw a couple of Greek Life people I knew, I couldn’t find Jordan.

It’s hard to say what exactly started it but in an instant, I was caught up in a sea of protestors pushing and shoving each other. Then, the shoves turned into punches and kicks. I saw several teeth get punched out of heads and people resetting their broken noses before going back in for more. All I could do was my best to dodge all the mayhem and in it, my stomach sunk when I realized that I’d lost Marie.

“Marie? Marie!” I called.

I thought I was being loud but I quickly got drowned out by the yells and grunts of the protestors. A burly jock lunged for me but I grabbed the back of his collar used the momentum to send him flying into the people behind me. I kept trying to call for Marie but got distracted by all the jostling.

Breathe, just breathe, Y/N, I thought.

Then, someone grabbed the back of my right arm and yanked me through the crowd. I yelped at the strength but couldn’t fight back as I was finally pulled to a fairly clear sidewalk. The same someone grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face them and I sighed when I made eye contact with Marie.

“Are you okay? Did anyone hurt you?” Her eyes frantically searched my face and she felt all over me for any bruises. “You have some blood on your dress.”

I gasped. “Is it mine?”

Marie shook her head and hugged me.

“There you two are, we’ve gotta get out of here!” Jordan rushed as he approached us.

Marie and I pulled away and trailed after Jordan. After a few minutes, we stopped at a clear green and I slumped against a tree.

“You didn’t get in trouble for the fight?” Marie asked.

“They didn’t catch me,” he said with a wide smirk. “How did things with Neuman go?”

“Good, she actually listened to us and said she was going to hand over everything to the proper channels.” Jordan nodded. “Did she say what would happen to Shetty?”

“She wasn’t sure but probably firing,” Marie reported before glancing at me.

I huffed and pushed myself to lean straighter against the tree.

“How long will it take?” Jordan asked.

“She didn’t say,” I answered.

“But, she’ll do it; she actually wants to help, Jordan,” Marie insisted.

Then, Jordan looked at me and I glanced down at my shoes.

“What’s going on with you two?” he asked.

“Y/N’s suspicious of Victoria even though she’s willing to help us,” Marie said.

“I just have a bad feeling and I was trying to be honest,” I defended. “Plus, Jordan brought up a good question. She never gave us a timeline or the names of those she would be speaking with. There are kids still down there.”

“I’m sure Victoria will be as quick as possible. If she was willing to help me, she must be willing to help others.”

“Wait, what?” Jordan asked.

“Victoria’s my donor,” Marie explained.

“That’s amazing.” Jordan paused and looked at me. “I’m not gonna pick sides or anything but, you both have good points. Neuman is our best option to expose the Woods and have people listen. Y/N has sensitive intuition, and she might be picking up on something. But, no one should be fighting right now, especially since we just made up.”

“I didn’t mean to start a fight,” I pleaded.

“It’s not a fight, it’s a disagreement and I’m okay with dropping it for now if you are,” Marie offered.

I nodded.

“Good.” Jordan stepped closer to me and frowned. “You got caught up in the brawl.”

“I don’t think it was long, though, and I’m not hurt. Marie found me but I was able to evade several people; I even threw a guy further into the crowd.”

Jordan smiled. “That’s my freshie.”

I didn’t have long to bask in the praise since my vision was overrun with the clearest image I’d had in a long time. Cate was standing in Shetty’s pristine living room and the older woman was cowering against the wall, eyes blown wide with fear and shaking her head.

“Cate, please, don’t do this, you don’t have to do this,” Shetty’s voice echoed.

“Yes, I do, you gave me no other choice.” Cate’s voice was hollow and her eyes were bloodshot. Then, my gaze fell down to her hands and in one, she held a sizable butcher knife.

When I blinked, Jordan, Marie, Emma, and Sam were looking back at me. I flinched a little.

“Do you zone out a lot?” Sam asked.

“No, Y/N just had a vision,” Emma replied with a grin.

I slightly nodded and pushed myself off the tree. “We need to get to Cate, now.”

Shetty’s house was as pristine as any college dean’s would be: the houseplants throughout the house accentuated the ivory and pastel décor and the scent of chamomile filled the house. The space in itself oozed serenity but I felt my skin buzzing as I traipsed through the house with my friends.

Just like in my vision, Cate was standing in the living room, her back facing us. Across the room, Shetty cowered against the wall and kept trying to crawl to no avail.

“Cate, what’s going on?” Jordan asked.

When she turned to us, everyone else gasped except me. Cate’s pupils were dilated, and her eyes were redder than I’d ever seen them. Her arms rested at her sides and the butcher knife glinted in one of her ungloved hands. Cate’s loose posture would have been more concerning if I hadn’t seen what I saw.

“You were fast,” Cate commented.

“We were on our way when you called me,” Marie shared.

“I caught a glimpse of what was going on and thought we should all talk,” I added.

Cate smiled and walked over to me. “Your powers are back, that’s amazing.” She went to grab both of my hands, but I flinched.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“Y/N, please, help me,” Shetty pleaded.

Cate whirled towards her. “Shut up! Only speak when I tell you.”

Shetty immediately closed her mouth but nothing Cate said wiped the terrified expression off the dean’s face.

“Cate, I think you pushed too much. Why don’t we sit down and you tell us what’s going on?” Marie offered.

“Also, where’s Andre?” Jordan asked.

“He had to go into the city and I feel perfectly fine. I realized that it wasn’t my powers that were making me sick, it was the prescription Shetty gave me,” Cate stated.

“What?” Emma asked.

If the prescription Cate took for her headaches somehow dulled her powers, then that meant…

“She gave you suppressants,” I concluded.

Cate nodded. “Exactly.” She turned away and started walking towards Shetty. “When Indira came home, I got her to admit to everything she’s been doing. Plus, the clips I saw from the town hall inspired me. We’ve been letting non-supes control us for far too long. They’re just scared of us because they know we should be the ones running things.”

While Cate was partly right about some non-supes being scared of supes, that didn’t mean the answer was to subjugate all of them. The situation was worse than my vision led me to believe and I wracked my brain for the best words.

“Cate, you don’t have to do this. We gave over all the information to Neuman and she’ll get it out soon,” Marie offered.

“Yeah, all of this will be exposed and Shetty and everyone else involved will face the repercussions that they should,” Jordan added.

Cate seemed unimpressed as she glanced at the knife in her hand. “That’s too good for Indira.” She faced the woman. “You brainwashed me and made me believe I was helping Luke when I was part of the reason he died. I should have reported you as soon as I got suspicious.”

Shetty shrunk away from her as much as possible and made some sort of noise behind her closed lips.

“Cate, that’s enough,” I tried.

The blonde turned to me. “Don’t you want to know why she wanted us to stay so close? Just ask and I’ll make her say.”

“You don’t have to do that, Y/N,” Jordan said.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Emma voiced.

 As I stared at the petrified dean, my curiosity didn’t matter. What did matter was that Cate was unhinged and I had to talk her down. She didn’t have her gloves on, which meant that she could peek into any of our heads at will. The best solution was to keep my head as clear as possible.

I took a deep breath and did my best to sweep away any annoying thoughts.

“I appreciate the thought but it’s okay. I don’t care about that anymore; I care about you.” I approached Cate like a zookeeper would approach a tiger. Her eyes never left mine and I forced myself to relax as I grabbed her free hand. “I’m still hurt by what you did but that doesn’t mean I hate you; none of us hate you. You’re one of my best friends and I know you have good intentions and Shetty took advantage of that.”

Cate nodded and breathed. “She did.”

“Yeah. So, why don’t we get out of here and let the police or whoever’s in charge of taking down people like her do their jobs? We can go get milkshakes at Vought-a-Burger if you want.”

Cate paused for a moment and mulled over my words. My heart rate felt like it raised with each passing second. Then, she eyed me. “Thanks for trying, Y/N but this is for your own good.”

“Cate---”

“Indira, tell Y/N what your plans were for her,” Cate cut me off.

Shetty sat up and responded, “Upon receiving your application and seeing your powers, my plan was to admit you into the school but admit you to the Woods before the end of your first semester.”

“What?” The word felt like it was punched out of me and I took a step away from Cate.

Shetty continued, “A future probability supe with a ten percent margin of error is too dangerous. There is no way of predicting any of your moves or motives and I wanted you sedated and monitored. But Brink stopped me just before sending out acceptance letters; he insisted that you were much more useful in the classroom than you were in a lab.”

My stomach churned as I kept backing away from Cate, whose gaze never left mine, and Shetty. I could feel my neck and shoulders tense and I suddenly felt lightheaded.

“Stop,” I requested.

“Keep going,” Cate instructed.

“Cate, stop!” Emma pleaded.

“She needs to hear this.”

“I disagreed with him but set up check-ins with you in an attempt to get his perspective. On first impression, I knew that you were intelligent but anxious and you had no malintent in your power use. I paired you with Cate as a peer mentor because I knew she would be able to keep a close eye on you and make sure you were taking your medicine without being suspicious,” Shetty articulated.

“Did you put me on power suppressants too?” I asked.  

“Partly. In each session, I made sure to play upon your insecurities, which would heighten your anxiety. You had so much self-doubt that your attempts to strengthen your powers were limited. Also, the medication I gave you only included a minimal amount of anti-anxiety medication. It also included power suppressants that dulled your abilities but not so much that you would notice.”

For a year and a half, I aired out all my insecurities, fears, goals, and grievances with Dean Shetty. She’d always made me feel secure in her office and was quick to offer advice. She listened every time I cried about my parents and gave me ginger tea after each episode. The fact that she’d been manipulating me and drugging me this whole time made it feel like the floor fell out from under me.

When I remembered she wanted me committed underground, I had to take really deep breaths.

She never cared about me or Cate; we were the enemy. Everything we told her was just more ammo that she could use.

“You never helped me; you almost made me worse,” I hissed.

“You’re too dangerous, all you supes are! It’s just a matter of time before you kill us all!” Shetty snapped.

“So, you kill us first?” Jordan shot back.

Shetty didn’t respond but glared defiantly at Jordan.

“She’s the enemy, Y/N, they all are. We can’t let them control us anymore,” Cate insisted.

 “But hurting her doesn’t make us any better,” I whispered.

Cate nodded slowly. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

She turned on her heel and walked back over to Shetty and I couldn’t take my eyes off the knife.

“Cate, wait, I get that Shetty’s deplorable, but she isn’t worth killing,” I pleaded.

That and all my other pleas fell on deaf ears as Cate walked over to Shetty. She turned to me and glanced at the others behind me, all were similarly asking her to stop.

“Slit your throat, Indira,” Cate ordered, handing the butcher knife to Shetty.

The woman easily accepted it and obeyed the commandment in one swift motion. The gurgling noises were the worst and my hands slapped across my mouth as I forced myself to take deep even breaths. Then, Marie brushed past me, gently pushing me closer to the others as she approached Cate.

Marie stretched a hand towards Shetty but Cate grabbed her arm.

“Cate, let me help her,” Marie insisted.

“I can’t do that. This is what she deserves,” Cate said slowly.  

For a moment I froze. Part of me wanted to lunge forward and free Marie and the other wanted to get as far away from the bloody scene as possible. Either way, I knew that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the life slowly draining from Shetty’s.

Taglist: @gardenof-venus @badbishsblog @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @darksoul100 @simiinthemirror

[sciderman]

I really don't like how we're just glossing over the fact that Gwen cheated on Peter let alone MJ hiding this from him.

who's glossing? i'm writing a whole fic about it.

2. they were on a BREAK

3. you're forgetting that peter and gwen are dramatic irony the couple™ and at exactly the precise same time gwen had her tongue down mary jane's throat peter had his tongue down harry's. the exact same night.

the joke is that peter has been burying all this guilt for years thinking that he'd failed gwen and was terrible and dishonest and she was an angel who was too good for him until he finds out. gwen was always just as much of a messy bitch as he was. but he was too busy spiralling in his own messes to realise that gwen was just as messy as he was.

4. mj didn't tell him, sure. but that's because she assumed gwen told him. i don't think mj's the sort of girl to say "hey by the way i fucked your girlfriend shitlips" even if that would be hilarious. she didn't think it was a secret though and definitely thought gwen told peter.

and yeah. i'd hesitate to call it cheating - they were definitely on a break. they might not have laid down a law, and definitely both feel ridiculously guilty about it, but they. were. on a break.

i think it was just a necessary thing, for both of them.

i think for me, i'm not about the moral black-and-white of relationships - it always got me down when people point at the piña colada song saying it's terrible. it's about cheating. that's objectively bad and evil so says it in the bible thou shall not commit adultery yadda yadda yadda. no, no, shut up. that's not what the song is about. the song is about rediscovering there's stuff you've overlooked about your partner. that you can think you love someone, but not actually know them. and you can learn more about them, and realise they're not what you thought, and you can fall in love with them all over again. for me, that's like, the most romantic thing ever, actually. and those who look at it through the "this song is about cheating" lens completely sleep on how genuinely, sincerely cute and romantic it is. that it's a song not about cheating, but discovering stuff you didn't know about your partner, and falling in love with them all over again. finding out that actually, you're both the kind of person who's crazy and lustful for life enough to run away with a romantic stranger on a wild escape, but you were both too afraid to admit that to each other. i love that song. it's so much more sincere and human than any stupid love song. nay sayers get away from me.

i think peter and gwen are a lot like that piña colada song. neither of them are a villain. both of them make mistakes and both of them were messy and both of them had stuff to figure out before they could make it work together.

i... sighs... i'd like people to kind of stop expecting these guys to be right all the time. they're disasters. i wouldn't be interested to write them in any other way. and i promise you wouldn't be interested to read it, either. i'm here for the messy bitches who have stuff to figure out. shout out to the messy bitches who have stuff to figure out.

[thehomeofplatonicfics]

Hi I recently discovered your account and I’m obsessed your writing is amazing and I don’t know if you’re still doing Tudor!reader Fics but if you are I have a request. So reader is Anne Boleyn’s eldest daughter and had to watch her mothers execution (for the storyline reader was 12 or so years old) and never forgave her farther so when she’s like 15 (maybe the day after Catherine Howard’s execution) she overthrows him as revenge. I hope you understand what I’m trying to say total understand if you don’t want to right it. Have a good day/night❤️

A/N: I love how kooky the timeline would have to be warped for this to be possible but I absolutely love the idea of this! So sorry for taking so long to write this, real life does enjoy getting in my way :(

Revenge

Someone had to stop King Henry VII, your father, from his increasingly brutal reign. Lady Mary, your half-sister, seemed unable to do anything without the counsel of her precious Ambassador Chapuys. Elizabeth was of course just a child, too young to rule. Edward was a mere baby. It seemed to you that the responsibility of saving the realm fell solely on your shoulders. It was a burden you were glad to take.

You were grateful that you’d had enough time being raised by your mother Anne Boleyn, that you had learnt how to be as cunning and manipulative as she had once been. Of course, having Mary as an older sister helped solidify those ideals, as Mary was able to inspire a great deal of loyalty in others when she wanted to.

It had been a long, arduous task to slowly turn the King’s courtiers against him. An entire year had passed before the perfect opportunity had finally arisen. Only two days had passed since poor Queen Catherine Howard had been executed on your father’s orders. Though you hadn’t been the greatest fan of the silly child, she was just like you… an innocent girl. Too many young women’s lives had been destroyed on the whims of an undeserving King, and the unrest among the populace seemed at its highest. It was the perfect time to strike.

The foundations you had laid throughout the year, telling little white lies here and there, promising things that you’d never do in order to gain the loyalty of the courtiers, would serve you well. The King had noticed some changes but could never trace them back to you. Often you would have agents loyal to you do the work that needed to be done while you were at home with Elizabeth in the country, creating a wonderful alibi.

Knowing that the King seemed to be favouring Catherine, the Lady Latimer, as his potential sixth wife, you realised that she would be the perfect distraction for your coup. You knew she wanted to be with Thomas Seymour so she would be likely to help you, especially as you had always had a good relationship with her growing up. Elizabeth, of course, was easy to manipulate into playing the part that you needed her to.

You dressed in your most regal black dress, deliberately picking out jewels and a French hood that made you look like a true ruler. You took a deep breath in and out to try to calm your nerves and your trembling hands before you went into the court. You gave a subtle nod to Catherine Parr who, along with Elizabeth, went up to the King to talk to him and distract him.

As soon as the King had begun discussing something with them both, you gave the signal to your loyal people who captured his guards and those you knew were still loyal to him, discreetly dragging them away.

You gave a sly, satisfied smile as you secretly prepared your weapon behind your back. You knew that your father’s greatest fear was getting sick, so you poured a poison on your blade before walking up to him, curtsying, and then holding the blade tightly against his throat. “Y/N! What is this?!” King Henry asks incredulously, clearly not believing one of his daughters could pull this off, his face grew white as he saw all the people loyal to you with their weapons drawn.

“I am now your Queen. You will take orders from me, and no one else.” You call out to the people in the court, who begin to cheer. You smile smugly to yourself as you see your father’s world crashing down around him.

“Why, Y/N? Just… why?” You give an incredulous laugh, sneering at him. “Why, father? For my mother.” You lean forwards, your breath touching his face as you snarl your words.

You turn to your guards, and give a sweet smile. “Throw him in the tower.” You command, pushing your father towards them. You sit on the throne, looking around at your successful coup. Allowing yourself a few moments to gloat in your glory, you immediately turn to your advisors. The Queen had work to do.

[etaleah]

Absolutely sucks that your blog is ravaged with proshipping apologia. Like yeah enjoying dark subject matter in fiction doesn't mean you condone it IRL (I myself am an avid gore and kink fan and use that to express my feelings in art) but uhhh there's a difference between depicting pedophilia in a story and actively jacking it to child porn which is what most if not all proshippers are trying to justify.

The Venn diagram between proshippers and anime lolicons is a circle. "Ohhh it's not real" yeah sure technically but that's still very much a child being raped on screen you're getting your rocks off to. Being in the second dimension doesn't negate that.

Most proshippers don't actually care about properly depicting complex subject matter in art. They just wanna write their incest rape South Park fics and call anyone who calls them out on it "puritans." (I doubt any of you really understand what that word means. If not liking child porn makes me a puritan then call me the Virgin fucking Mary.) It's all excuses, excuses.

Fiction affects reality more than you think. It's why propaganda is so effective. It's why Jim Crow and minstrelsy was (and still is tbh) so harmful to African Americans. Why do you think POC care about how they're depicted in media so much? It very much influences thinking, how people see the world.

(There is an argument to be made about the rampant racism in fandom, but that's a whole other conversation.)

Don't dismiss this ask. I want you to read it very carefully and get yourself out of the echo chamber you've put yourself in. Consider the points made at the very least. Use the "critical thinking" you claim to love so much.

I have considered the points you made and read them very carefully, and I have found them incorrect, relying on faulty logic, and full of unverified assumptions and false equivalences. I now bring you a full breakdown of exactly why, though I’m putting it under a cut in case anyone wants to avoid the Discourse™ because this breakdown is a long one.

*cracks knuckles* Here we go!

You clearly have a different definition of “proship” than I do. I and those that I have reblogged or liked (as far as I can tell) are “proship” in the sense that we’re arguing for the freedom to read what you want and write what you want because thoughtcrime isn’t real, no one gets hurt inside your head, and the ability to read and write what we wish is vital to a free society. That’s my definition of “proship,” and if you have a different definition and are determined to stick to it, there’s not much I can do about that. I can only tell you what my definition is so that you know what I’m referring to when I talk about it in this post or reblog posts mentioning it.

If you’re referring to what’s on AO3 (which is what I am mainly concerned with, as I don’t talk about other fanfic sites on my blog), that is not child porn. It’s not. The term child porn refers to sexual photos and videos of real children, not text-only stories about fictional ones. AO3 does not allow users to upload videos nor does it allow users to upload photos except for their profile pictures, and it is literally written into their Terms of Service that they do not allow child pornography on their site. You couldn’t put child porn on AO3 if you tried. Text by itself with no photos or videos accompanying it is not child porn, and that’s true no matter how disgusting and immoral you find it. I don’t support or justify child porn because I don’t support or justify real children being hurt, which is what actual child porn involves and requires.

What I do support is the freedom for everyone to read and write what they want, and I am not going to stop supporting that.

How do you know that the people reading or writing a fic are “getting their rocks off to” or “actively jacking it” to what's in it? Did they tell you? Have you developed telepathic powers and read their minds? How do you know that people “don’t actually care about properly depicting complex subject matter in art?” Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them. You don’t know why someone is reading something and you don’t know why someone is writing something. I have no idea whether the person checking Mein Kampf or Birth of a Nation out of a library is a racist who agrees with everything in both works or a scholar doing research for a paper on racism or just an average joe who wants to see what’s in there for themselves and form their own conclusions, which is a perfectly fine and intellectually healthy thing to want. I don’t know which of these is the case and I’m not going to automatically assume the worst-case scenario, nor am I going to demand that the person checking out those works provide me with an explanation because they don’t owe me one. You don’t know why someone is reading or writing a rape or incest story. Maybe they find it sexy or maybe they’re a victim themselves, working through their trauma by expressing it via the written word. You don’t know which one it is, and they don’t owe you an explanation. I’d advise you not to automatically assume the worst-case scenario either.

Because you know what happens when people assume the worst of an author’s intentions and assume they know what a work is doing? You get situations like Isabel Fall’s and Lindsay Ellis’ where people were sure they knew that the former was being transphobic with her short story and that the latter was trivializing rape with her “rape rap.” They were so sure, as sure as you are in your ask, not a doubt in their minds, didn’t think it was possible for there to be any other reason or interpretation, and so they felt totally justified in harassing those women. I’m sure each of them convinced themselves they were doing this because they were an ally who just cared so much and that those authors deserved the hate they were getting because (gasp!) they wrote something bad and if you write something bad, you should expect to be called out. And then they found out—oops! Turns out Isabel Fall was a trans person and not a cis person being transphobic after all, and was actually writing a story about a subject she had plenty of experience with, and—oops! Turns out Lindsay Ellis was an assault victim herself and she was coping with her trauma in the best way she could because making a lighthearted rap about the subject made it more accessible, easier to deal with, and not as scary and she wasn’t making fun of victims after all. Whoops!

How do you know the people writing these fics you find so horrible aren’t doing something similar to Ellis and Fall? How do you know they aren’t victims working through their grief and trauma in a way that helps them? How do you know you’re not misjudging and assuming the worst of them just like Fall’s and Ellis’ haters misjudged and assumed the worst of them? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them. How do you know?

Why do you get to be the authority who decides what “properly depicting complex subject matter in art” even looks like? Maybe someone else read it and decided it was properly depicted; why does your opinion and interpretation matter more than theirs? Why is yours the correct one? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them.

I don’t know what anime lolicon is, so I’m not gonna comment on that, though I will say it disproves your point about the Venn diagram being a circle since I am technically a proshipper and yet I don’t even know what that is. I’m sure if you look hard enough, you can probably find someone using the proship label who has done something bad or supports something bad, but the same can be said about antis. You get assholes in every group. Doesn’t mean everyone in the group is a bad person.

(Also I know this isn’t the most important point here but the fact that you’re more worried about the content of South Park fanfics rather than the South Park show itself says to me that you care more about finding an easy target than about minimizing harm because that show has plenty of racist and anti-Semitic “jokes” in it that are being fed to a much larger audience than any fanfic of it could ever have, yet I don’t see you being worried at all about that. Wonder why.)

(Another less important point but one I’m still going to indulge in: I find your line about “if that makes me a puritan then call me the Virgin Mary” funny in an ironic way because in trying to claim that people don’t know what the word puritan means, you proved that you yourself don’t know what it means by implying that puritan = virgin. Puritan and virgin are not the same thing. Virgin is a state of being that could be voluntary or, if you want sex but can’t find anyone to give it to you, it could be involuntary. One could be a virgin and still be sex-positive just like one could be a religious fundamentalist with ten kids who’s had all the sex required to make those ten kids but still be sex-negative and think that only the straight married baby-making kind is okay and all other kinds are impure and gross. Unlike virginity, puritanism is a mindset, not a state of being, and therefore it is always voluntary. You can be one without being the other. Again, not a super important point, but I thought the irony of that line was funny.)

You do know that Jim Crow was a set of laws and policies set down by the government and enforced by police and courts and not, like…a dirty fanfic or book, right? You do know that? It was and still is a legal framework that’s baked into the justice system and has been the driving force behind everything from mass incarceration to drug policy to redlining and housing to voter disenfranchisement. Bitch, I fucking wish that Jim Crow was nothing more than a bad fanfic or a bad story; that would make it a hell of a lot easier to fight! Acting like any one (fan)fiction writer or any one piece of (fan)fiction has the same amount of power as the fucking US government is some insane false equivalence.

As for the representation argument, you’re misunderstanding what that movement is about and why the founders of it cared about the state of media. We Need Diverse Books and organizations like it did not start their campaigns because they were disgusted by what White writers were doing and wanted to stop them and make sure they could never do it again. They started their campaigns to empower and encourage authors of color. It began when a few Black mothers were looking for books for their kids and realized they couldn’t find any with a Black child on the cover, not because they read something a White person wrote and were so horrified by it that they had to put a stop to it. Being so horrified by something in a story that you have to put a stop to it is what Moms for Liberty does. The goal of the representation matters movement is to diversify the publishing industry since it’s still majority White, to publish more authors of color because most of the authors being published are still White, and to update school curriculums so that students of color can read about and study characters like themselves. All of which are good and reasonable goals. It is not and never was about telling people what they were and were not allowed to write or read, or saying that they’re bad people because of what they write or read.

“Influences thinking” and “affecting reality” are not the same as controlling or determining thinking and reality. If fiction really does affect how people see the real world, then why, in a time when we have more positive books/movies/TV shows/plays of and by POC and positive queer books/movies/TV shows/plays than ever before, are we still dealing with vicious racism and homophobia? If fiction influences thinking and affects reality and how people see the world so much, then why, in a time when we have Drag Queen Story Hour and trans characters are being featured positively in popular TV shows and trans actors are winning awards, are we still dealing with some of the worst transphobia we’ve ever seen? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them.

Fiction doesn’t make things happen. Playing violent video games doesn’t make a person violent. Reading or writing about an immoral act does not mean you agree with, get off to, or are going to do the immoral act. And that’s true regardless of what the immoral act in question is, whether it's gore or kink or rape or incest.

The problem with “you can read/write what you want except for X because X is gross/morally wrong” is that the bigots and mean-spirited folks of the world will find a way to make anything they don’t like into X. That’s the part antis don’t think about. But we’re already seeing it play out in school board meetings.

“We don’t want to ban Maus because it talks about the Holocaust, we want to ban it because uhhh it has pictures of naked prisoners in the camps and therefore it’s pornography.”

“We don’t want to ban Beloved because it talks about slavery, we want to ban it because uhhh it has a slave getting raped in it and therefore it’s pornography and sexually explicit and won’t someone think of the children!”

“We don’t want to ban all of these books because they have Black kids on the covers, we want to ban them because uhhh they’re critical race theory and indoctrination that teaches White kids to hate themselves!”

“We don’t want to keep drag queens out of libraries because we hate them and are transphobic, we want to keep them out of libraries because uhhh they’re sexualizing minors and teaching them to mutilate their genitals!”

Those are real examples. And they will happen to fanfiction too if we’re not careful. Someone doesn’t like Sonadow? Well they’re not against it because they’re homophobic or just don’t like the ship, they’re against it because uhhh it’s pedophilia since Shadow is 50-65 depending on how you count it and Sonic is 15. If it can happen with books, it can happen with fanfiction.

We’ve already seen cases of people running for board positions on AO3 who talked about “cleaning up the site,” and each time it turned out they were homophobic and were very much including queerness in what they considered “dirty.” That’s going to keep happening because antis keep falling for it and getting swept up in a manufactured moral panic without thinking through what the enforcement would be like. The whole reason AO3 has the policies that it does is because these kinds of purges happened regularly on other sites. Every time, people insisted it was “just the bad ones,” “just the immoral ones,” “just the underage ones,” etc. And it never was. And after every purge, there’d be a lot fewer queer love stories in the world.

How are you going to make sure that doesn’t happen again? How will you decide whose definitions of terms like “pedophilia,” “grooming,” “underage,” “sexualizing,” “fetishizing” get used? That’s the part antis never think about, is what enforcement of what they want would actually involve. Some people think “underage” is anyone under 25 or under 20 and some think it’s anyone under 18. Which one is right? Who gets to decide? Which country’s age of consent is the correct one that fanfic writers around the world all have to abide by regardless of where they’re from, and why is that country’s age of consent the correct one? Whose interpretation of a work is the correct one? And whoever ends up making these decisions, how will you stop this decision maker who gets to say what counts as “properly and improperly depicting complex subject matter” and what doesn’t from shifting the goalposts and abusing their power? How will you stop them from applying those negative labels to just any work they don’t like? What checks and balances will be put in place to keep whoever does the fanfiction gatekeeping from abusing that position? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them. I’ve yet to see an anti have an answer to these questions.

I know propaganda is effective because you’ve fallen for it. The idea that peoples’ ability to read and write what they want must be restricted because Think of the Children™ and because “only bad people would ever want to read/write something bad” is the same talking points used by Moms for Liberty, Ron DeSantis, the people protesting Drag Queen Story Hour, and so many others. Every single time an attempt is made to restrict the freedom to read and write, it is always couched in the paternalistic language of protection, safety, just looking out for kids, and the fearmongering language of “that stuff is freaky, dirty, and gross and only a pervert would ever have a problem with it being banned.” Every time, it is discussed with the language of protection and safety, and every time, it is a lie.

I support the right of everyone to read and write what they want because I don’t know their situation, don’t have the right to demand an explanation of their situation or a detailed account of their very private and personal traumas, and have seen what happens when people try to excuse banning and censorship of written text or harassing authors with the excuses of “it’s just the bad ones,” “we’re just protecting kids,” “we just have a few concerns,” “we’re just being good allies,” and “if I wrote something gross I’d expect to get called out!”

So. Now that I have responded to your points, I hope that you will very carefully read and consider my points at the very least and get out of your echo chamber and use some critical thinking too. The fact that you put the phrase critical thinking in quotes like it’s a fake thing that doesn’t exist instead of a real and very important skill reveals a lot more than I think you meant it to, but still I hope you try.

I’ve disabled anonymous asks because I want to see if you’re brave enough to respond without hiding behind anonymity. I’ll be interested to see if you or anyone who agrees with you actually provides thoughtful, well-reasoned, and well-articulated answers to the questions I’ve asked instead of replying with a thought-terminating ad hominem like “That was a lot of words to say that you’re a [insert bad thing here]!” or “Just say you [insert bad thing here] and go!” And if you can actually provide evidence for your claims, if you can provide non-anecdotal, verifiable studies and data that are not from a religious or rightwing think tank that prove your points about proshipping and proshippers, then I’ll really be impressed.

I’m not holding my breath though.