#I’m sure this is longer than it needs to be but I hope it makes some sense!

[itneverendshere]

Can we get something along the lines of bartender reader maybe working at the country club and some guy has been hitting on her all night, he’s older, creepy, won’t leave her alone, getting drunker as the night goes on and she’s just trying to ignore him but she has to go to the supply closet later in the night or steps away for whatever reason and the guy follows her? reader is gone for too long and Rafe notices, finds her and stops the guy?? I need protective Rafe over reader 😍

ugh i hate creeps, literally felt ill writing this but for the sake of the story i did, bc it's unfortunately very common. thank you for the request lovely 🫶🏻🫂

throw away my faith just to keep you safe - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: unwanted advances; there's a creep.

It was just another Friday night, the usual crowd of kooks indulging in their weekly rituals of wealth and excess. For you, it was just another night behind the bar.

Wiping down the counter, you glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight.

Your shift was crawling toward the finish line, thank god, but the crowd promised at least another hour of pouring drinks and faking smiles. Not that you minded by this point — the tips were decent, and the job wasn’t hard. But sometimes, the clientele was more than you could handle.

“Another round for me, sweetheart?”

You turned toward the voice and visibly shuddered at the sight. There he was again — the guy who had been hitting on you all night, like a stupid plague. He was in his mid-forties, with thinning hair and a sleazy smile. He’d been getting progressively drunker, his advances getting bolder with every drink. You didn’t get paid enough to put up with this shit, but you also didn’t feel like getting fired for slapping someone across the face. 

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, trying to keep it professional. “Sure. Another whiskey?”

He leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Y’know you’ve got the prettiest eyes. Why don’t you come sit with me for a bit? I’m sure the bar can survive without you.”

Internally, you cringed. Outwardly, you kept your smile, though it was starting to drop. “I’m working,” You replied, “I can’t.”

He grinned like he hadn’t heard you — or maybe he just didn’t care. “C’mon, you can take a break. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You’d rather shoot yourself in the face. You turned away, busying yourself with grabbing his drink. You didn’t want to make a scene. You could handle this. You’d dealt with drunk idiots your entire life.

But something about him was different — he wasn’t just annoying, he was persistent, and you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

Rafe had checked in on you earlier, but you hadn’t seen him for a while. Normally, you could handle yourself, but tonight you really wished he was closer.

The guy’s drink slammed down in front of him harder than you intended, and you forced another smile. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawled, eyes dragging down your body in a way that made your skin crawl. “You’re too pretty to be stuck behind a bar. Bet you could find someone to take care of you, huh?”

You barely held back an eye roll as you turned away from him, grabbing the rag to wipe down the counter again just to have something to do with your hands. 

The guy cleared his throat, leaning even closer over the bar. “How much longer do you think you’ll be working, sweetheart?” His voice was low, like he was trying to make it intimate, but it just made your stomach turn. “I’ll wait for you. We could have a little fun after you’re off. I know you’re not gonna go home alone tonight, right?”

“Yeah, I am,” you muttered under your breath, hoping he didn’t hear.

But he did.

“Aw, come on now, don’t be like that,” he said, his grin widening like you were joking with him. “I know girls like you — all tough on the outside, but once someone gives you a little attention, you melt.”

You slammed the rag down, turning toward him, patience leaving your body. “Look, I’ve told you, I’m working. And even if I wasn’t, I’m not interested. So how about you just take your drink and leave me alone?”

His smile dropped for a moment, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “You don’t gotta be a bitch about it, sweetheart,” he slurred, clearly not backing down. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

Before you could answer — or reach for the nearest object to throw at him — a familiar voice cut in from behind.

“How about you fuck off before I make you?”

You knew that tone. It was the one he used right before things escalated. Fast. You looked over to see Rafe standing just behind the bar, his jaw clenched and his eyes locked onto the guy in front of you.

His posture was tense, fists curled at his sides like he was holding himself back from jumping at the guy. “Rafe,” you called softly, reaching out to grab his arm. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.”

But he didn’t take his eyes off the man. “No, you don’t,” he muttered, stepping closer to the bar, “This guy’s been harassing you all night. He needs to leave.”

He looked Rafe up and down, taking in the expensive clothes, the look in his eyes, and the way his muscles tensed beneath his shirt.

“Hey, man,” the guy said, holding up his hands in a show of surrender. “No need to get all worked up. I was just talking to her.”

“You weren’t just talking,” Rafe snapped, “You were being a creep, and now you’re gonna get the fuck out of here.”

The guy opened his mouth to argue, but Rafe took another step forward, and whatever argument he had died in his throat. He grabbed his drink from the bar, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch before he turned and stumbled away toward the door.

Once he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Rafe turned to you, his expression softening immediately. “You okay, baby?”

You nodded, but your hands were shaking slightly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks for stepping in.”

He stepped closer, “You shouldn’t have to deal with assholes like that.”

“I can handle it,” you replied, “But I’m glad you were here.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed slightly, his thumb tracing soft circles against the skin in your arm. “I don’t want you handling it. I don’t want you dealing with that shit at all.”

You smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “It’s part of the job sometimes.”

“Not when I’m around, it’s not,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. 

You grinned, your fingers brushing over his collarbone as you tilted your head up to kiss him. His lips were soft against yours and when you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I’ll be fine for the rest of the night,” you whispered. “Promise.”

He exhaled softly, his arms tightening around you just a little. “I know. I just hate seeing shit like that happen to you.”

“Me too, baby.” you admitted, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “But at least the tips are good, right?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Only you would focus on the tips after that.”

“Gotta find the silver lining somewhere,” you teased.

Rafe chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again. This time it was deeper, and for a moment, you almost forgot you were still at work. When he pulled away, he glanced back toward the bar. “You need me to stick around?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I think your little display of alpha male behavior probably scared off any other creeps for the night.”

He smirked, looking a little too pleased with himself. “Good.”

“Go hang out with the guys,” you said, patting his chest. “I’ll see you when I’m done.”

He hesitated for a second, his hand still resting on your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go, but finally, he nodded. “Alright. But if I see him again…”

“You won’t,” you assured him. “And if you do, I’ll let you know.”

He gave you one last kiss, then reluctantly let you go and headed back toward his friends. You watched him for a moment, smiling to yourself before you turned back to the bar.

Forty minutes later, Rafe stood by the side of his truck, fingers drumming against the hood as he waited for you to finish up. He hated this place most days — hated how these old, rich assholes thought they could treat you like you were some kind of prize they could buy. It had taken everything in him not to knock that guy out earlier, but he knew you didn’t want a scene. Still, he’d been fuming ever since.

You’d be out any minute now, and the two of you would go to his house. He just needed to chill. But then, five minutes passed… then six… and a knot started to form in his stomach. You were never this late getting out, and you’d told him you’d be quick tonight.

Where the were you? He checked his phone again. Nothing.

Rafe pushed off the truck and started pacing, his eyes glancing between the front entrance and the locker room doors around the back. He knew you were still inside, but something wasn’t sitting right with him. His instincts were screaming at him now. After another minute, he couldn’t take it anymore. Fuck this.

He strode back inside and headed straight for the back hall that led to the locker room where you always changed after work. As he turned the corner, his heart stopped. There, right outside the locker room door, was the same asshole from earlier — the drunk creep who’d been hitting on you. His greasy hand was on the door, shoving it open, trying to force his way inside.

Rafe saw red.

Without thinking, he surged forward, grabbing the guy by the collar and slamming him back against the wall so hard the drywall cracked. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The guy didn’t have time to react before Rafe’s fist connected with his jaw, his head snapping back against the wall. He stumbled, eyes wide with shock as he tried to raise his hands in defense, but Rafe didn’t give him a chance.

“You thought you could get away with that shit?!” He growled as he shoved him again, pinning him hard against the wall. The guy let out a choked gasp, his face going pale as he tried to squirm out of Rafe’s grip.

“I-I wasn’t—” the guy sputtered, his words slurred from the blow.

Rafe didn’t want to hear it. He threw another punch, this one harder than the first, his knuckles splitting against the guy’s cheekbone. All he could see was you — you, behind that door, completely unaware that this piece of shit had been about to force his way in.

“Rafe!” 

He stopped his fist still clenched, inches from the guy’s face. He turned his head just enough to see you standing in the doorway, dressed in your usual jeans and a hoodie, eyes wide, like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

“Baby,” you said stepping forward. “It’s okay. He’s not worth it.”

But Rafe couldn’t let it go — couldn’t let the image of this creep forcing his way into the room where you were out of his head. The thought made him sick. It made him want to tear this him apart piece by piece.

“I should fucking kill you,” Rafe spat, his voice trembling  as he pressed the guy harder against the wall.

“Please. I’m okay. He didn’t get in.”

It took every little ounce of self-control Rafe had, but he finally let the guy go, stepping back just enough for the asshole to crumple to the floor, groaning in pain.

“You come near her again, I swear to god…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The guy knew exactly what he meant.

The creep scrambled to his feet, clutching his bleeding face as he stumbled down the hallway, mumbling something that Rafe didn’t bother to listen to. His eyes were on you now, his breathing heavy as the adrenaline started to wear off.

His hands were still shaking, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, though your eyes were still wide, “I’m fine. He didn’t get in, baby. You stopped him.”

Rafe exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he tried to breathe properly. The thought of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t come inside when he did made him want to throw up. “I should’ve been here,” he muttered “I should’ve been right here with you.”

“Rafe, you can’t be with me every second,” you stepped closer to him. “You did the right thing. I’m okay. Really.”

But he wasn’t convinced. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, needing to know for sure that you were safe. His grip was tight, maybe too tight, but he couldn’t help it. “I swear to god, if he’d touched you…”

“He didn’t,” you murmured, your hands rubbing soothing circles on his back, “He's not going to."

He held you like that for a long moment, his heart still beating too fast, his mind conjuring everything that could’ve gone wrong tonight.

 “No more working late nights here.”

You pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Rafe—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, “This place is full of creeps, and I’m not letting you deal with that shit anymore.”

You sighed, “We’ll talk about it.”

He didn’t argue — not now, at least. But as far as he was concerned, you weren’t coming back here. Not without him.

“What the hell is going on back here?”

You both turned to see Greg, your manager, striding down the hallway. He looked between you and Rafe, his eyes landing on the dented wall and the bloodied handprint smeared across it.

“Seriously, what the hell happened?” He barked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why is there a guy running out of here with blood on his face?"

Rafe stiffened beside you.

He didn’t like Greg — never had. In his mind, he was lazy, incompetent, and more interested in playing golf with the country club regulars than actually managing anything. You opened your mouth to try to explain, but he beat you to it.

“Why don’t you fix your goddamn locks, Greg?” Rafe snapped, stepping forward, “If you weren’t so busy kissing everyone’s ass, maybe you’d realize that your employees aren’t fucking safe here.”

Greg blinked, “What are you talking about?”

Rafe pointed to the locker room door, where the knob was still hanging loosely, as if the creep had almost succeeded in breaking it off.

“Your fucking locker room door doesn’t lock. That asshole was trying to force his way in while she was changing. What the hell are you running here, man?”

Greg glanced at the door, then back at you, his face paling slightly but instead of apologizing, or even showing the slightest bit of concern, he threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Look, I didn’t know—”

“Yeah, because you don’t pay attention to shit!” Rafe shot back, his voice rising. “You think you can just let her and the other girls fend for themselves? Is this the kind of place you’re running?”

“Rafe,” you murmured, your hand on his arm again, trying to calm him down. “It’s fine.”

But Rafe was far from calm. His hands were shaking, and his eyes locked onto Greg. “No, it’s not fucking okay. This shit keeps happening, and it’s gonna get someone hurt.”

Greg took a step back, holding up his hands in surrender. “Look, I’ll… I’ll talk to the maintenance guys, alright? We’ll fix the lock.”

“Not good enough,” Rafe snapped, “You better fix it tonight. Because if this happens again, I’m not gonna be so nice next time.”

Greg swallowed hard, clearly shaken. “Y-Yeah. Fine. We’ll take care of it.”

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head in disgust. “You better.” 

He turned his back on Greg without another word, grabbing your hand again as he led you toward the exit. His grip was tight, and once you were outside, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

“Rafe,” you said softly, pulling him to a stop as you stood by the side of his truck. “It’s over. I’m okay.”

He exhaled sharply as he looked down at you. “I can’t stand that guy,” he muttered. “He doesn’t give a shit about you or anyone else working here.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight, his chin resting on the top of your head. For a moment, he just held you like that, the tension slowly ebbing away. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit,” he murmured against your hair.

“I know. Let’s just go home.”

Rafe looked down at you, his brow furrowing slightly, “I’m gonna get you a gun.”

"A gun?"

"Yeah," Rafe said seriously, his grip tightening on your waist. “You need to be able to protect yourself if I'm not around."

"Baby, that's... kind of extreme," you tried to make him understand, "I don’t need a gun." You placed your hand on his chest, your thumb rubbing slow circles "I know you're worried. I know you don’t want me dealing with stuff like this, but a gun isn’t the answer."

He sighed, “I just want you to be safe.”

“I know,” you nodded. “And I will be. I promise.”

He held you close for a few more seconds, his forehead resting against yours. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded. “Okay. No gun. For now.”

You smiled faintly, relieved. “Thank you.”

“But if it appens again, I’ll shoot him myself.”

“Okay, James Bond, get in the car.”

[brokenmenswhore]

I'm so glad you've come back with betrothals and brothels, I love that fic! Also I'm so curious about how it's gonna end up bc basically everyone is in love with mc I love that so much 😭 now that your requests are open again, can I ask you something where Aegon and fem!reader are in love but also betrothed to different people and they secretly see each other at night (not only they're in love but pretty horny as well). When they meet for their final night together it's so sad and beautiful and the next day during Aegon's wedding he decides to just marry fem!reader instead (I mean he's king after all??) who of course is present at the ceremony and they're happy and well in the years to come (I'm sorry I can't deal with sad ending at least in fiction I need things to go well 😭)

i love happy ending fics especially with aegon because he deserves all the happiness in the world <3

the one | aegon ii targaryen

pairing: aegon targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: light smut (MDNI 18+)

────── ☾ ──────

“Being sneaky is not my strongest trait, Aegon, sometimes it takes longer than expected.”

“You were supposed to be here last hour, I missed you.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could.”

“Well I’d hope not,” Aegon teased, frantically pulling your clothes off of your body and tossing them aside, a few garments landing on the wine lining the cellar walls.

You moaned when Aegon connected his lips to your neck, sucking the sweet spot he knew you could cover easily with your hair as you tilted your head back in pleasure.

“Someone’s eager,” you teased, “thought we were going to take it easy tonight? It is our last night together.”

“I hate it when you put it like that,” Aegon sighed, pulling slightly away from you.

You and Aegon had been at this for a while. Since only shortly after you had met, you and Aegon had been in love. Desperate, secretive, lustful love.

You had both hoped your parents would betroth you to one another, but life was cruel. Your father promised your hand to a lord in the Riverlands, and Aegon was promised to his own sister.

No betrothal could stop you from meeting one another in secret, especially late at night.

“It is the truth, you and I both know we cannot continue this after we are wed.”

“The thought of you married to someone else makes me want to vomit,” Aegon said, “you aren’t anyone else’s. You’re mine.”

“I know.”

Aegon sighed and dropped his head, but you caught his chin and tilted his head back upward. “We still have tonight, yeah?” you said.

Aegon nodded his head and immediately leaned in to kiss you, wasting no more time. He unclothed himself as best as he could without breaking away from you.

He backed you up until your back hit a shelf of wine, and a few bottles fell with a cacophony of glass breaking against the ground.

“Aegon!” you jumped, startled by the noise, but he wasn’t phased.

“Oops,” he said, nonchalant, working to kiss you again.

“Aeg, we can’t just leave this here,” you struggled out between kisses, “it- Aegon- if you step on glass it’s not my fault.”

Aegon pulled away and looked into your eyes. “Do you ever shut up?”

“No, but that’s what you love about me,” you smiled.

“Correct,” Aegon responded, “so I say this with love. Shut up and let me fuck you.”

“But there’s glass everyw-“

“Shut up,” Aegon repeated, quieting you himself with a demanding, hard kiss.

Your body instinctively gave in as you lifted a leg up to wrap around Aegon’s waist.

Aegon began to press himself into you, grinding his hips lightly and pushing you more and more into the corks of the wine bottles.

“Fuck, Aegon, we gotta adjust,” you spoke.

“You’re killing me,” Aegon complained.

“Aeg, I’m literally backed against bottles of wine and there’s glass everywhere. How do you think we’re gonna fuck like this?”

Aegon bent down to scoop you up from under your legs. You wrapped your body around him as he walked around the glass, finding a clear spot and slowly lowering your bodies onto the ground. He made sure your back was gentle as it hit the floor, and you clung to him for dear life until you felt grounded.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you smiled.

“Good,” he replied, “now shut up.”

He kissed you again, running a hand down the side of your body and eliciting goosebumps. He moved his hand lower and lower until it reached your core.

You gasped as he began to touch you, your back arching off the ground as he rubbed circles on your clit for a moment before moving further down to insert two fingers into you.

While Aegon was usually rough and needy, the moment his fingers were inside of you, he slowed completely, savoring every single breath and gasp from your mouth as he pumped his fingers in and out.

The newer, slower pace was new for you, and it made your moans drawn out.

Aegon smiled and groaned as he watched your face contort. “You’re enjoying this, huh?”

You nodded your head, and your confirmation only added to Aegon’s own arousal. “Yes, but, w-why are you going so slow?” you struggled out.

“If I only get you one more time, I’m gonna make it last.”

You rested your head back down against the floor, allowing your senses to become consumed by the pleasure Aegon was giving you.

He leaned down and kissed your neck again as you squirmed under him.

Though he was moving slow, the pleasure was still intense, as was anything Aegon did. You were so in love with him, and so attracted to him, that any touch from him drove you crazy.

“Aeg, I-“

“Let go for me,” Aegon whispered in your ear.

You immediately came, his words sending you over the edge. He kept his fingers still inside of you as you came, as he always did. He loved tasting you on his fingers when he pulled them out of you, knowing that the sweetness came exclusively from what he could do to you.

You were out of breath, but Aegon was not prepared to waste a single moment.

He reconnected his lips to yours, and despite your newfound tiredness, you pulled him closer.

He gave his cock a few lazy strokes before lining it up with your soaked entrance. “You need me?”

“I always need you, Aegon, you’ll always be the one.”

Aegon slowly inserted himself into you, causing you to let out a soft, long sigh.

He pressed his forehead to yours, and you both watched your bodies disconnect and connect as he began to slowly pump in and out of you.

He looked up at you, and despite the close proximity, you still felt like he was looking straight into your soul.

“I love you so much,” Aegon said, shaky and breathing heavy.

“I love you too,” you said, holding his face in your hands and leaning upward to kiss him.

────── ☾ ──────

You sat in the pew, leg shaking as you tried to restrain from crying or screaming or lashing out and storming off.

“I cannot believe you are truly making me do this,” Aegon whispered to his brother, who stood directly behind him as he waited at the alter for the ceremony to start.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. As much as it pained you to look, he was much too handsome. His head was adorned with a prince’s crown, and he was dressed in all black, which contrasted his near-white hair perfectly.

You wished it was you waiting to walk down the aisle toward him. Anyone would be lucky to stand at the alter with him and hold his hand.

Aegon’s eyes scanned the room until they met yours. Even with you sitting, he could see how beautiful you looked. Beautiful and sad, just like him.

The piano’s first few notes began, and the room quieted and stood as everyone prepared for the bride’s entrance. Your body turned toward the end of the aisle, but your head didn’t. You stayed fixed on Aegon.

Heleana began to walk down the aisle, her mother by her side. Though you resented her for what she would now become, she truly looked beautiful, and you held no true ill will toward her. This was not her choice either.

Aegon looked at his bride, and then to you.

You suddenly became very aware of your staring at him, and you didn’t want to ruin the day. You forced yourself to look away, and you dropped your head, taking a deep breath to remain calm.

You stared at the floor and listened to the piano until you heard Aegon.

“Stop.”

You instantly lifted your head and turned toward the source of the noise, and he was already looking straight at you.

He swallowed hard in nervousness. “I cannot do this.”

You and Aegon could not break eye contact if you tried. Aegon took a deep breath, forcing himself to turn and address the room. “My sister is very special to me, but that is how she should stay: my sister. She is not the one I will wed today.”

Your eyes widened in a mix of shock and confusion. There was no way he was actually doing this. Your heart dropped to your stomach. You were nervous, excited, overwhelmed- every emotion all at once.

“I have decided to marry the one I love,” he announced, “if she will have me.”

Tears filled your eyes and you couldn’t help but smile to show your acceptance.

Aegon continued: “I am the King, after all.”

You took a deep breath as Aegon gestured for you to come toward him. You shifted through the pew and into the aisle, turning to Heleana.

“Do not worry,” Heleana whispered, “you are saving me as much as you’re saving him.”

You gave Heleana a hug and she handed you her bouquet of flowers. Her mother protested, but you could not hear. You could only focus on Aegon.

You turned to face him and began to walk down the aisle, the biggest smile on your face as you made your way across from him.

You handed your bouquet to the woman standing nearest to you, and put your hands in his.

[raineandsky]

Hello, I was wondering if you could please write something where Villain thinks they are under a love potion slipped by hero’s allies. After every moment they see hero they feel they are in love with them. But when they confront the teammate they find, to their surprise that they gave them a ‘speak your heart’ potion to get them to confess their crimes and never expected them to have feelings for their friend. Coming to the shock and realization that they had indeed fallen for hero but had been ignoring it/suppressing it. Now they are at the point where they can deny it no longer. Thank you for your consideration and for reading this! I hope you have an absolutely lovely day! 💕

this was.... such a cute idea??? i liked writing this one, i hope you enjoy reading!! thank you as always for the request!!

Heroes are liars. The villain knows this well. They’ll lie, cheat and bribe their way into anything that might mean another villain in jail, another victory under their belt.

There are telltale signs of lying, of course. Looking away, shifting about, smiling awkwardly. The villain has learnt all of these, because they know that heroes are liars, but also tend to be bad liars.

This hero, from the villain’s deduction, is either an incredibly good liar or telling the truth. God, the villain wants it to be the former.

“Love potion turns blue,” this hero is saying. “When I poured the heart-speaker in your drink it went orange.”

The hero’s looking right at them, stock still, face blank except for what seems a little like horror. Liar, surely. He’s just a damn good one. “Bullshit. You’re— You’re fucking with my head.”

“I’m not doing anything!” the hero cries. “I’ve been following you around with a recorder because I was hoping you’d admit to your crimes! I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

The villain turns away from them—a mistake most villains know not to make, not that the villain particularly cares right now—and heaves a deep sigh. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Does it?

The villain is no stranger to love potions and their effects. How they noticeably warp their victim’s perception of reality, of who they can trust. The villain, subject to one such potion for one of the supervillain’s strange experiments, noticed that everything felt different, that their feelings on certain people had inexplicably changed. The effects also wore off after a day.

The villain’s been feeling like this for a week. Loose, almost detached, like honesty is the best policy even though their colleagues would scream for them to stop talking.

They’ve seen their hero more than once this past week. Carefully stamped-down, begrudging respect has blown up into desperate infatuation. Their hero says some well-practised lines about taking them down, the villain stutters out some of their own about never being caught, and then they fight, the physicality of it entirely overwhelming sometimes.

That’s more than a simple love potion has ever done to the villain.

Their hero is— how long has the villain been calling them that? That hero isn’t the villain’s anything except their nemesis. They need to get out of their own head before the heart-speaker drowns them in their own emotions.

“How… how long does it last?” the villain asks faintly.

“Well,” the hero says, “at least a week.”

“Oh my god. You don’t even know.” The villain scoffs in offence. “Jesus, I— I can’t see [Hero] again like this.”

“You’re freaking out, [Villain],” the hero butts in carefully. “You’re recognising your own feelings for the first time. It’s a lot. I get it.”

The hero doesn’t get it. The villain feels like the world’s about to end. “What the hell am I meant to do?”

“You could tell them.”

“Are you insane? No!” The villain wrings their hands, pacing thoughtlessly. “No, this isn’t right. The heart-speaker will wear off and everything will go back to normal. It’s fine.”

“I mean…” The hero glances down at the little audio recorder in their hand. It looks ancient, as most hardware does that comes from the agency. “I still have a ton of free space on this thing.”

“I’m not saying it out loud and I’m certainly not letting you record it.”

The hero shrugs, the lightest smirk weaving its way onto their stupid face. “I didn’t think you would. I do have some heart-speaker left. Enough for… someone else.”

On any normal day, the villain wouldn’t care too much about knowing what their hero thinks of them. But this day isn’t normal, and with this goddamn potion working its magic on them, the villain is painfully, embarrassingly desperate to know every little detail of their hero’s thoughts.

The villain squints at the hero to make it clear they’re not agreeing to this immediately, although their body language probably suggests otherwise. “Okay, well, it’s not your worst idea.”

The hero nods sagely. “I think I know which idea of mine you think is the worst. I’ll make sure this one isn’t to your detriment, though—it’ll be fun working with you, partner.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why, saving it for someone else?”

The villain wants to snap back at them for the tease as the hero laughs, but they can’t deny what the heart-speaker is forcing them to admit.

Yes.

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 10 - ( c.s )

part nine

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- a little angsty, swearing, comfort as well i guess, idk??? nothing crazy

a/n: i liedddd i lied i’m splitting the last part in two bc this became a little longer than anticipated. i hope u are all doing fantastic and i stg i will get the rest of this story out if its the last thing i do LMFAO (next part will give u goblins what you’ve been waiting for hehehehe)

the knocks on your front door start at around six pm the following friday. it’s surprising, because it’s rare that anyone shows up unannounced, especially right before the weekend festivities.

in fact, the last time someone did that was when chris arrived on your front porch with a bouquet of flowers to ask you on a date. you try not to think about it too much as you descend the stairs, focusing on not tripping over your feet instead.

the knocking grows louder, making it clear that whoever is waiting is rather restless.

“i’m fucking coming!” you shout as you make it to the landing, closing the final distance and yanking the door open with a huff.

when you see who it is, you’re even more out of breath. ben and connor stand before you, concern written all over both of their faces. neither of them say anything; they just exchange sheepish glances with one another like they’re unsure where to begin.

“oh—uh…hey guys. what’s up?” you try not to sound too disoriented, even though you are.

“hey…sorry to barge over here like this, i’m sure we’re not really the people you want to be seeing right now.” connor starts, shoving his hands in his pockets as he speaks.

you stay silent, because he’s not really wrong. you know that they have nothing to do with the situation, and you refuse to take it out on them, but seeing chris’s friends is a painful reminder that he still exists.

even though each week becomes a tiny bit more bearable, that doesn’t mean you’re suddenly fine and back to normal.

ben clears his throat, taking over for his friend and cutting to the chase. “look, we really need your help. i swear we wouldn’t be bothering you if it wasn’t serious.”

your eyebrows furrow further, and you’re somehow even more confused than you were when you opened the door. an anxious feeling settles in your stomach, like it’s only going to get worse from here.

“what is it?” you ask hesitantly, because you’re not sure you actually want the answer.

“it’s chris,” connor starts, eyes darting over to their house as he says it, “he’s…i don’t know, he’s just messed up. ever since things ended between the two of you he’s been completely out of it, and now he’s throwing hockey away too.”

you tilt your head to the side. “wait, what do you mean throwing it away?”

”the team confronted him after we lost on sunday and he didn’t want to hear it, so he walked away. we thought he was fronting, that he’d realize he was being an idiot, but he didn’t show up to any of our practices this week and coach is fuckin’ pissed. he won’t talk to us, or listen to anything we’re saying.” ben explains further, waving his hands around in aggravation as he speaks.

horror washes over you when you realize that they probably spoke to him about you, and that the whole team was in on it. you can feel your cheeks heating up in shame just thinking about how that conversation went, which makes you angry.

your voice comes out a lot sharper than intended when you respond. “no offense guys, but i’m not really sure what this has to do with me.”

“kind of, like, everything.” ben shoots back, though he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth once he realizes how he sounds.

connor rolls his eyes and elbows him in the hip, earning a muffled grunt. “what he means to say is that the only person that kid listens to is you. if he doesn’t snap out of it soon and go to the game tomorrow, he's gonna be kicked off the team for good. and as much as you’re on shitty terms, i don’t think you want to see him do that either.”

he’s spot on once again. you’re still hurt, but you can’t bring yourself to truly hate him. hearing that chris is taking this just as hard and is actively fucking up the rest of his career at the most critical time makes your heart feel like it’s suffocating.

you rub your eyes, letting out a long sigh as you begin to mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to do.

“fine, i hear you, and i’ll talk to him. but i'm not making any promises beyond that.”

they both look so relieved that you actually feel kind of bad. you’re not sure if this is actually going to work, but they’ve clearly been stressing out over their friend for a while now.

you wonder if your own roommates feel the same way about you. they’re out together for happy hour after you insisted on staying home, still not in the mood to socialize. you’ve been trying not to burden them with the massive pressure you‘re feeling all of the time, but they’ve also known you for over three years now.

it’s hard to hide from the people that really know you, which chris clearly understands.

“thank you, seriously. we both owe you major, anything you want for real.” ben praises, hands pressed together as if he’s worshiping.

“yeah, we really appreciate you doing this. i’ve always known you were the best, but you somehow only get better.” connor smiles, a small glimmer of sadness in his eyes.

he straightens up after a moment, nodding over at their place as they begin to retreat. “ben and i are headed out to the bars, so if you’re not up to anything tonight, he’ll be in his room. front door’s open.”

you already feel like you’re floundering, but you nod at the two of them as if you’re just great anyways. what else can you do when you just made a vow to throw your healing out the window?

ben lingers for a moment, staying just close enough so that he can whisper under his breath. “for what it’s worth, you're the best thing that ever happened to chris. and i hope one day he can prove that he knows that too.”

you feel yourself tense up immediately. you have no idea how the hell you’re supposed to respond to that, so you don’t. he gives you a small wave as he finally turns, joining his friend so that they can make their way up the street.

you watch them until they’re gone, still frozen in place. the shock has finally kicked in, and you can’t move.

all you can think about is chris; having to look him in the face again, and listen to him say things to you that you know are going to twist the knife even deeper. it’ll probably undo all of what little progress you’ve made.

but you can’t let him mess everything else up too, not when you still love him so much. there are some things that are worth throwing yourself on the blade for, and this is one of them.

unfortunately or not, you’re going over there, and you’re going to shake some fucking sense into him like you always do.

even if it kills you in the process.

when chris hears the soft tapping on his door, he assumes it’s one of his roommates trying to persuade him off of his war path once again. he’s sprawled out in bed as if there’s not a care in the world, playing endless rounds of fortnite like he has been for the past week.

“i’m not interested in chatting.” he snaps, narrowing his irritated eyes at the tv screen in front of him.

it’s locked anyways, so they can’t get in regardless. and yet, despite this fact, the door swings open a moment later. chris is about to spiral into a complete rage until he actually looks over to see who it is.

you’re standing there with a bent paperclip in hand, a self-satisfied expression plastered on your face.

“so it actually does work, huh?”

for a second he thinks he’s hallucinating. there’s no way that you’re actually here, in his room, cracking a joke about the time that he broke in to talk to you. but he can smell your signature perfume in the air, which convinces him that this is in fact real life.

chris shoots up in bed, messing with his hair self-consciously. a furious blush is creeping up his face, because his room is a fucking disaster zone of clutter and it’s embarrassing. he wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not you.

“um—hi?” it’s more of a question than an actual greeting, even though he didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

“hi.” you reply awkwardly, eyes shifting around his room as you continue to stand in the doorway.

“you can, uh, sit. if you want.” chris stutters, moving his legs so that they’re hanging off his bed.

he straightens his comforter to make room for you, still red with shame about the mess. he has no idea why you’re here, he’s just praying that he doesn’t say anything that’ll scare you away. he wants this moment to last as long as it possibly can.

luckily enough, you actually do end up making your way over, settling on the very edge of his bed. you’re practically falling off it, trying to make sure that you keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. it breaks his heart, but he can’t say he doesn’t understand.

“i’m sure you’re confused, so i’ll just get right to it.” you start, picking at your fingernails so you don’t have to look at him.

the lump in his throat is growing by the second, but instead of showing that, he nods and attempts to choke it back down.

“your friends came over. they’re really worried about you, you know.” you continue carefully.

he barely contains an eye roll, opting to close them for a moment instead as he lets out a small breath. but he understands, seeing as he’s gone completely off the rails.

“i don’t know what to say to that.” chris replies honestly, since he’s apparently lost the ability to talk to you too.

“well, i guess you could start by telling me what the hell is going on, because you pretty much live and breathe for your team.” you’re putting it bluntly now, because you know it won’t get through to him if you don’t.

he rubs a hand over his face, trying to think of the right words. they’re not really there, but it’s been too long of a pause, and he needs to fucking speak like a normal person.

“i…my heart just isn’t in it. i’m playing like shit and it’s better if i don’t bring them down with me.”

you shake your head, completely astounded by the attitude that you’re hearing. “so you’re just going to turn your back now? when you’re weeks away from selection show and so close to a contract?”

he’s defeated; chris doesn’t know what else to do besides throw in the towel, and he also has no idea how to get you to understand that. his shoulders slump slightly as he stares at the floor.

“yeah, i guess i am.”

it’s silent for a moment, which makes him incredibly insecure. then you nudge him with your foot a little, forcing him to look over at you.

“listen, if you don’t want to play hockey anymore, that’s your decision at the end of the day. but i have to be honest with you before you do that.” you start off strong, facing him fully so that you can meet his eyes.

“the first time i ever came to your game, as someone that you actually invited, i saw you. i’d been to games before, but that night i was solely focused on you, as stupid and fucking embarrassing as that is to admit. you were electric out there, chris, and you’ve got so much talent it’s actually a bit ridiculous. i mean, you literally made me fall in love with hockey all over again,” your voice wobbles slightly—barely enough for him to notice—but it’s there.

your eyes are full of an emotion he can’t comprehend. maybe it’s because you’re feeling every single one of them, just like he is right now. he’s beginning to cry, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“you’ve been putting in the work, and i know that you’d get an AHL contract from one team or another. you want it so bad it kills you, and you’re so damn close. i can’t let you give that away because of us.”

the words hit him hard, and even though his first instinct is to get defensive, there’s no point. you can read him like a book, and you know just as well as he does that his terrible performance has everything to do with your relationship.

slowly, he reaches for your hand. he can’t help it; being this close to you makes it feel like every single one of his nerves is on fire, and he has to actually feel you.

your fingers tangle together, resting on your leg. you’re stiff at first, but you relax into it as his thumb grazes your lower thigh in a calming pattern. it feels so natural, almost domestic, even after being apart for so long.

his other hand goes to your neck, pulling you forward so that your foreheads press together gently. you can smell him, feel his slightly callused palms, hear his soft breaths. it’s so overwhelming that the tears you’ve been shoving away spring to your eyes.

he knows he only gets one chance to say it, so he does.

“i love you. i love you so much that i can't focus on anything else, not with the way things are between us. and i am so, so sorry that i ever did that to you, or that i put myself in that situation in the first place. it was my own insecurity taking over, as hard as that is to admit, and it was pathetic. but i want to be with you, only you, and i always have. i mean, fuck, i’ve loved you since the moment you moved in next door, when you yelled at me out your window to put on a shirt that night.” chris chuckles slightly, sniffling a bit as he continues to brush his thumbs along your skin.

you can’t help but huff out a small laugh as well, thinking about that day. you were already frustrated after it took hours to build your dresser, and him teasing you was just the final nail in the coffin.

“the point is that i love you, and i’m sorry. i just needed you to hear me say it.” he breathes.

everything in him wants to lean in and close the rest of the space, because he misses his mouth on yours so much. teardrops roll down your cheeks slowly, and he can feel you shaking just a little bit in his grasp.

“i fucking love you too, chris, but i just…i just don’t know.” you sigh, biting down on your bottom lip hard to keep them from colliding with his.

you place a hand on his chest, pushing him away just a little bit to try and set a boundary. it’s almost worse, because now you can really see him, his face inches apart from yours.

his eyes dart down to your lips for too long, puffy from you gnawing on them, and he can feel himself slipping into that same trance he’s always in whenever he’s around you. especially after hearing those three words, whether you were cursing at him or not.

but he nods and lets his fingers fall from your neck, because he refuses to force this on you if you’re not ready. he still keeps a hold of your hand, though, for at least a little longer.

“i get it. i’ll fucking wait, i don’t care. if there’s any chance, i’d wait forever, do you understand that?”

you can’t meet his eyes as you push some of your hair over your shoulder. “i’m not sure that i do.”

“i can’t do this without you, and i don’t want to.” chris feels like he’s repeating himself, but he doesn’t care.

he squeezes your hand just a bit, and you use your free one to brush the tears from your cheeks. you finally meet his gaze again a moment later, eyes shining slightly. he can see the hesitation in them from a mile away.

“please, just come to the game tomorrow. i’ll swallow my pride and beg for forgiveness until coach lets me back on the team if you can do that for me.” he pleads, the faintest of ideas forming in the back of his mind.

you blow out another breath, but your body betrays you and you’re nodding your head before you can actually respond. he’s surprised by this, naturally.

but you knew the second the words came out of his mouth that you would say yes, so you verbalize that fact. “i’ll go. if you show up and play like you mean it, i’ll go.”

he feels himself laugh again instinctively, just because of how wrong he was. you’ll always have that fiery personality; it’s just you. he figured you’d eventually move on and find some really great guy, but he was pretty sure that he would always stay right here, dreaming of you.

“i’ll play like it’s the last game of my life, i promise.” he places his hand over his heart, knowing full well now that he’s going to put on a real show.

you pull your own from his so that you can stick your pinky out, forcing him to swear on it. you’re well aware that it’s silly, but you’ve always believed it was a little deeper than just saying it.

“pinky?” you challenge.

he smiles, linking his finger with yours without batting an eye. “pinky.”

@fawnchives @55sturn @luverboychris @teapartyprincess4two @pinksturniolo @mattinside @stonermattsgf @impureals @chrisactualwife @fikefries @riasturns @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @beijhe @gnxosblog @braindead4l @orangeypepsi @ponyosturniolo @cupidsword @rainydayenthusiast @sturnvvz @wurlibydominicfike @poopydroopt @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner @rubyjanexxx @reallykaz @neatcarrot767 @kirby0strombolli @bunnysturns @junnniiieee07 @hrt-attack @sturnssmuts @stunza @beccaluvschris @asturniolos @slutz4sturniolos @mattslolita @alorsxsturn @sturnrc @chrissystur @kellsbells-18 @realqueenofpepsi @snowysosturn @secretfangirly @scarlettbitches @satvisfavetoodles @x0x0bunny

[amalgamateofficial]

A Quick(?) Update

Hey, everyone. I never know what to say, and then because of that, day after day passes in silence. I guess I just want to say that yes, I’m still working on chapter 21 of Amalgamate, and also that I’m sorry for the absolutely ridiculous amount of time that’s passed between chapters. I know I’ve been “absent” a lot online, too. Rarely commenting on fics, taking days to respond to DMs, hardly livestreaming…

I’m sure it’s a no-brainer that the kind of person who writes a story like Amalgamate isn’t exactly a “well” person. Those who follow me on social media for my cosplay and art content see such a small, curated snapshot of reality. The smile doesn’t exist until I hit record, and it ends when the video stops. So every day, my followers see videos of me at my “best,” but I film as much as possible on a single day because the next “good” day could be weeks away. Sometimes I worry that the next good day isn’t going to come at all.

The most frustrating thing about it is that I’m well aware of the cycle. Every year, starting in August, the darkness starts to creep in. By September, it takes hold. By the end of October, it’s inescapable. November passes, then December. Last year, December almost ended in the worst way possible, but as cheesy as it sounds, Amalgamate convinced me to turn it around. I thought, “What kind of example am I setting here? How can I let people down like this?” 

So this year, I tried to prepare for the inevitable… and failed. I thought if I could post chapter 21 before the end of August, I could just curl up alone and wait for 2024 to be over. But then everything went to hell and I missed my goal, and when the darkness started to creep in at the edges, I tried to make another goal, and then another, but every single time, I was dragged right back down.

Then a mini cycle started to form within the larger cycle. Every day that goes by in which I don’t post chapter 21, I think the chapter needs to be even better to make up for how long I’ve kept everyone waiting. Then the pressure overwhelms me, and the terrible thoughts creep in, and then the guilt sets in, and then I’m curled up in the corner again with nothing accomplished. DMs are left to fester. Fics I want to read collect dust. I drift away, and I let everyone else drift away, and I sit and stare and wish things could be different. 

I suppose it’s not all doom and gloom though. I tried really hard to work on myself this past month, and I was actually successful in a few ways. I tried to clean myself up, and in some ways, I did a lot better than expected. I’m hoping that means I can turn things around again. I want to finish chapter 21, catch up on all the fics I want to read, start drawing regularly, and be an active participant online instead of just tossing out content in a desperate attempt to keep up appearances.

But it’s such an uphill battle. I feel worse now than I did last year, so I’m trying really hard to cling to that self-awareness and prevent things from going the way they did in 2023. But I know that’s not realistic. Everything in life is worse than before, and I see no evidence that it will improve anytime soon. So that means it’s on me to simply power through it and do the best I can.

So, for the sake of my own sanity, chapter 21 will get finished as soon as possible. I don’t know how much longer I can survive with this awful feeling, and that feeling will go away once the next chapter’s posted. In the meantime, I’ll try not to miss the mark with all my other goals. No matter what, I’m going to finish my Halloween cosplay special for 2024. Last year, I had some funds to help me. This year I don’t because I dropped out of most of my conventions, made a lot less art, and overall just kinda gave up on everything. 

But it’s not too late. I’ll dive into as many dumpsters as I have to in order to make a Halloween cosplay that will hopefully be as good as Mangle. This year, I’m gonna be cosplaying Spamton NEO – which is probably cheating since I’m already a failed content creator past their prime who has no choice but to wear clown makeup and wave their arms at anyone who happens to scroll by.

I never know what to say, so I guess all I can really say is that I’m trying my absolute best. I know my best is often really disappointing, but it really is the best I can manage sometimes. Even when I’m distant, just know that it doesn’t mean I love you all less, or appreciate you all less, or feel any less gratitude. It just means I’m in the dark, and I’m trying to crawl my way back. Which is very tiring. And overwhelming. But I never stop trying. In part because you all mean so much to me. Last year would’ve ended differently if that wasn’t the case.

Anyway, I don’t know what else to say other than thank you all for your continued support. I’ll try to make it all up to you and then some. Maybe this year I can end things on a high note for once. I’ll certainly give it my best shot.

Uuuh… I guess if you do want to see me at my best, though, you can always follow me on TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube. That’s the best version of me in between Amalgamate chapters, and I recently shared a ton of Danganronpa cosplay videos because of Dragon Con. I have a Patreon now too, and even though it’s a ghost town, I’m still posting as much content there as possible. I’ll keep dancing until the stage lights are forcibly shut down. I think that's the best way to guarantee that I can turn this ship around.

[kinicheous]

home | kinich

for a person of natlan, falling in love with someone from outside of the borders might be the worst curse of all.

genres/notes: angst-ish, fluff-ish, mildly suggestive, mentions of possible death (let me know if something is missing!)

“how often do i have to tell you?”

on the other side of the door, the inn is buzzing with gleeful people. you can faintly hear them cheer and talk, glasses clinking and entertainers performing. on this side though, it’s quiet, so quiet that kinich’s voice reverberates through the silence. or perhaps it’s the proximity—his words fan your skin, that’s just how close he is as he hovers above you.

“i’m from natlan. i can get revived at any time,” he says. “you’re not.” he emphasizes his statement by squeezing your intertwined fingers, pushing your hand deeper into the sheets below you. “you can’t, y/n. one mistake and it’s over.”

you’ve seen kinich worried. he trusts you enough to easily wave you off every time you go on a journey, but at times where you return with more than just a couple of wounds, you can’t blame him for getting worried nonetheless.

today is different though. he’s never seen you this battered and patched up, and you’ve never seen him this upset. not worried, but upset, on the border to irritated. you can tell in the half-lidded eyes that bore into you, and the weight of it makes your own divert away to anything and everything else in the room.

“so, what? it’s like that for every adventurer, it’s not like i’m gonna quit being one,” you mumble, genuinely meaning your response but not able to sound as confident as you’d hoped, “besides, i came home this time too, didn’t i?”

a small gasp escapes you when his other hand finds your chin, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you turn to face him again.

“what about next time? what about the day you don’t come home at all?” kinich mutters, leaning even closer until his forehead rests against yours. “how often do i have to remind you?”

“kinich, i—...” you try to argue back, though words blending in with the room’s silence when you feel his breath tremble against your lips; beneath all that frustration, there’s a tinge of pain ringing in his tone; a pain that echoes into your chest as well and for a brief moment, it makes you imagine what it’d be like if the roles were reversed. you can’t imagine trading your current for anything in the world but you simply can’t blame him either.

you make another attempt. this one, however, is also shut down when the gap separating you closes without as much as a single warning—the desperation in the kiss anchors you to the plane of reality, and so does the next one, and the next one. you’re slowly given fewer and fewer opportunities to breathe in a way that isn’t through sharp inhales and yet, there’s a part of you that outweighs a need so primary human. kinich parts from you for a mere second, locking your eyes during that instant, before tilting his head to the other side, and as his hand slips from your chin to gently caress your cheek, you wish time would stop,

“kinich, i’m sorry,” you try again, barely getting the words out between dazed touches. “i can’t give up my adventures, i— you know i can’t.”

and he nods.

kinich nods, so pliantly, like he didn’t try to argue with you in the first place. he doesn’t want to, and he makes this clear as he at last parts, “i know.” he slides further down, just enough to attach his lips to the spot below your ear, slowly but surely leaving a trail of kisses down your skin. “i would never take them away from you,” he says, with a genuinity in the purest sense of the word. there’s another pause and the longer it lasts, the more certain you become that there’s a mark soon to blossom where your neck meets your shoulder.

“i just need you to take better care of yourself,” kinich declares between gritted teeth. you feel a second squeeze from his hand, the thumb of his other running across the corner of your eye, and that’s when he gives in; he detaches himself from your burning skin one last time, opting to settle into the crook of your neck.

“don’t make me remind you again… please.”

you’re not entirely sure when he let his entire weight drop on top of you, or when your legs tangled together. neither are you sure exactly when your fingers started to feel like they were about to break in the grip of his own, but that doesn’t really matter. the events in the rest of the inn have greatly increased, but you don’t care a particular lot about that either.

for the moment, there are only two people flush against each other, closer than ever as if a gap of even a centimeter would mean the end of the world—maybe it would, for you, and for him because in this very moment, nothing else matters except the fact that you both exist in it.

you move around the slightest bit, enough to nuzzle your face into the messy strands of his hair. your fingers find their way to his scalp as well, and he sighs in what sounds like relief.

“i can’t promise anything,” you answer bluntly, having no intentions whatsoever on sugarcoating anything, though follow up with a reassurance, “but i’ll try. someone has to welcome you back next time you get revived after all.”

it’s muffled, but the groan kinich lets out against your skin is loud and clear nonetheless.

“you’re such a damn menace.”

[misscherry-26]

something where the reader and Bellamy are good friends and partners as guards but there’s some underlying tension and feelings involved. Cute flirting and teasing?

Between Guard and Heart

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Author's Note: Hi!!! Thank you for this request. I tried to make an open ending in terms of not both confessing their feelings but leaving a hint of something between them. I hope you enjoy it!

There could be grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language

You met Bellamy on the first day of your job as a guard on the Ark. It was funny because it was also his first day. You remember it as if it was yesterday. 

You hurried down the narrow corridor, nerves buzzing in your chest, you nearly crashed straight into him. The clipboard you were holding flew from your hands, papers scattering across the metal floor.

“Easy there,” he commented with a smirk, bending down to help you gather them.

You shot him a look, trying to steady your breathing as a small, nervous smile tugged at your lips as you gathered the rest of the papers. “Thank you.” 

Your hands trembled slightly, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“If you needed an excuse to talk to me, you could’ve just said so.” He adds teasing you. 

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you quickly glanced away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up your neck. “Right, because tripping into cocky guards is exactly how I planned to spend my first day,” you replied, the words coming out a little shakier than you intended.

He chuckled, standing up and offering you a hand to help you to your feet. “First day, huh? Same here. Looks like we’re both a little out of our depth.”

The revelation caught you off guard, and your nerves spiked again, though for a different reason. “Yeah? You sure don’t seem like it,” you muttered, trying to focus on anything but the way his hand felt warm and solid in yours as he helped you up.

Bellamy flashed you a crooked grin, holding onto your hand just a second longer than necessary. “Guess I’m just good at faking it.”

After that encounter, you and Bellamy grew closer, especially when you were partnered up on the same monotonous shifts, in which you two shared a lot in common. From everyday thoughts to what the two would do if earth was habitable…the two of you complement each other. Still, you sensed that Bellamy kept something to himself. You never asked, nor pushed him to tell you about it. Until one day…

You and Bellamy used to reunite at your house every week to hangout and chat, but today he didn’t knock on your door. You thought maybe he would be late. But after an hour, you got worried. It wasn’t like him to ignore you. So you decided to go to his house. 

You’d knocked once, but there was no answer. After a second knock, you hesitated, then heard a soft rustling from inside.

“Bellamy?” you called out.

But you got no response. You leaned on the door and this one moved slightly. That worried you. It wasn’t usual to have their doors unlocked. you pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it just a bit. 

But as you took another step, you froze. There, hiding in the corner behind a shelf was a girl—her eyes wide, filled with fear, and her face pale in the dim light. You stared at her, heart pounding in your chest. 

Before you could say anything, Bellamy appeared in the doorway, his face pale.

His eyes darted between you and Octavia, panic tightening his features. Closing and locking the door, he stepped in front of her protectively, his voice low and urgent.

“Look, I can explain—just don’t say anything,” he blurted out, his usual confident tone cracking with worry.

You knew then. She was his sister. 

You stood there for a moment, not knowing exactly what to say. This was why he was so protective, why he always avoided certain topics.

“I won’t.” You said softly, meeting his eyes. 

You then walked and stopped in front of the little girl, extending your hand in a friendly way.

“Hi, I’m Bellamy’s friend.”

His sister smiled and shaked your hand. She was intimidated at first, used to seeing only his brother and mother. Bellamy’s sister takes a look at him, as if to confirm she was one to trust. His brother nods.

“I’m Octavia.”

From that day forward, things changed. You began visiting Bellamy and Octavia more often, bringing small gifts to brighten her secluded life—ribbons, a book, and once even a small trinket you’d found. You’d sit with her, telling stories about what it was like outside, sharing everything she longed to know. You could see the awe and wonder in her eyes as she listened, soaking in every detail, and it warmed something deep inside you.

Bellamy often stood at the side, watching quietly, his heart swelling with every laugh or smile you brought to his sister’s face. He’d never seen anyone be so kind, so genuine with Octavia. You didn’t have to do any of this, but you did, and that meant more to him than words could express.

The more he watched, the more his feelings for you deepened. He’d always admired your strength and determination, but now, seeing you with Octavia, those feelings took root in a way that left him reeling. You were everything he didn’t realize he needed—honest, generous, and completely selfless when it came to the people you cared about.

“Careful,” you teased one day, catching him watching you from across the room. “You keep staring at me like that, and I’ll start charging you.”

Bellamy scoffed, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah? I didn’t realize I had to pay for someone to distract my sister all day.”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Distract? Please. You’re just jealous because I’m better company than you.”

Bellamy leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Better company, huh? You really think I can’t hold my own?”

You shrugged, flashing him a teasing smile. “Well, it’s not hard when the competition spends most of his time brooding in a corner.”

“Brooding?” Bellamy repeated with a chuckle, stepping closer. “I prefer to call it ‘thinking.’”

“Right,” you quipped, leaning in slightly. “And here I thought you were just admiring the view.”

He faltered for just a moment, the playful banter giving way to something a little deeper, a little more intense. But he quickly recovered, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

“You wish.”

Before you could respond, Octavia called your name, breaking the moment. You turned, your focus shifting back to her as Bellamy watched quietly, his teasing expression softening. The way you treated his sister—like she was just another girl, not a secret to be hidden away—meant more to him than he could say.

The more he watched you with Octavia, the more his feelings for you deepened. He’d always admired your strength, your quick wit, but seeing the way you treated his sister—You were everything he didn’t realize he needed—honest, generous.

But then, everything changed.

Your bosses changed your shift and you found yourself temporarily partnered with Elliot, another guard. Until his partner recovered, you were assigned to cover his rounds. It was standard procedure, nothing unusual. But somehow it shifted between you and Bellamy.

Elliot was easy to get along with, the two falling into an easy rhythm. 

But for Bellamy, it didn’t look like that.

It started with the smaller things, he would catch you laughing or talking animatedly with Elliot and a strange knot would twist in his stomach. He reminded himself that it was nothing, that you just were being friendly. But the more he saw, the harder it became to ignore. You and Elliot seemed too close, and that bothered him.

With your new shift change, you weren’t able to visit the Blake’s as frequently as you used to. You wanted to tell Bellamy about it—you missed Octavia—but every time you tried to call him, he would simply look away and leave. At first you thought he was stressed or distracted.

But days turned into weeks and so on. You couldn’t understand it. Why was he acting like that?

One day, you cornered him when he finished his patrol, frustrated and confused. You hadn’t seen Bellamy in days, it wasn’t like him, something was wrong, and you needed to know why.

“Bellamy!” you called, following him down the corridor.

He glanced over his shoulder, his pace quickening. You caught up to him, grabbing his arm.

 “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” He stiffened under your touch, his expression cold. 

“Don’t give me that” You step in front of him, blocking his path. “You’ve barely spoken to me. You act like I don’t exist. I don’t know what I did, but you need to tell me.”

His jaw clenches, eyes flickering with frustration—jealousy. He shakes his head. 

“Look, I’ve got a lot in mind, okay? Just focus on your new partner—it seems like you and him get along just fine.”

“You think something’s going on with me and Elliot?” You ask incredulously. “You’ve been ignoring me because of him?” You pushed, stepping closer, “wait—are you jealous?”

He scoffs, refusing to look at you. “ I’m not.” 

You take a deep breath, your voice softening.

 “Bell, there’s nothing going on between him and i. We are just friends, that’s it. Whatever you are thinking—you’re wrong.”

His eyes meet yours then, flickering with something—relief, maybe. 

You let out a soft sigh and smile, gently shaking your head side to side.

“You can be so stubborn sometimes” 

For a moment, Bellamy doesn’t say anything, his eyes still locked on yours, the tension slowly starting to unravel. His shoulders relax, just a little, and you can almost see the weight lifting from him.

“You really think I’d just replace you like that?” you ask softly, stepping closer, your tone teasing but your gaze sincere. “You’re not that easy to get rid of.”

Bellamy chuckles, but it’s a quiet, almost self-conscious sound, his guard slipping just a bit more. “Guess I’ve been an idiot, huh?”

You nod, your smile widening. “Just a little.”

For a second, neither of you moves. Then, without overthinking it, you close the distance between you, resting your hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to push me away, Bell,” you say gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks at you for a long moment, then nods, his lips twitching into a small, grateful smile. “I’ll hold you to that,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, the vulnerability clear.

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that feels like a quiet promise between you both. And though nothing else is said, it’s enough for now.

[mangoshorthand]

Inspired by this post. When your daughter is eight years old, Five organises a family trip to County Clare, Ireland. His reasons why are completely transparent.

The Changeling | Five Hargreeves/Reader, Five Hargreeves & 8 y/o daughter Words: 7.7k

GIF by: @seance

It was Aoife’s first flight, and it was only through Five’s gentle persuading that you were convinced that it would be safe. At eight, he said, she was more than old enough to listen and control herself.

Still, just before you boarded, you knelt down in front of her and took her by the elbows. 

“Aoife, listen to me, honey.”

She blinked at you with Five’s eyes. She looked the picture of innocence, and if you didn’t know better, you might have been taken in.

“You cannot blink on this flight. You can’t blink on this trip at all unless it’s just me and Daddy in the room, but you especially can’t blink on the plane, okay?”

“Okay Mommy,” she said, sulkily.

“Seriously,” you said, giving her a gentle shake, “If you misjudge it by just a tiny amount, you could end up outside the plane. You could fall and die.”

Aoife looked up at Five for backup but didn’t find it. He put a hand on her shoulder with a stern look that was uncharacteristic when aimed at her.

“Your mother’s right, cara. This is life and death. And even if you try it and don’t die, we’re going to go straight back home again as soon as we land. There will be no trip at all. You hear me?”

“I didn’t even do anything yet!” she said, indignantly.

“Yes, and I’m sure you won’t because you’re my good, sensible girl,” you said, hoping she’d live up to the label. 

“I’m just making sure you understand what’s at stake here, kid.” Five said, “ Non sto scherzando . Now, repeat it back: tell me what’s gonna happen if you blink.”

“I’ll die,” she said, with petulant impatience.

“And if you blink but don’t die?”

“No trip,” she repeated.

“Correct,” Five said, “we won’t even leave the airport. We’ll turn right around and get on the next flight home.”

“I know you’ll be a good girl,” you said, kissing her on the nose, “you always are, aren’t you?”

You kissed once, twice and three times until her pout was replaced with a smile. 

As it happened, once the initial excitement of being airborne had worn off, Aoife fell asleep almost immediately, the early morning catching up with her. She was leaning against you, chest rising and falling slowly, and would remain so for all but the last hour of the flight. 

Five was also quiet, staring out of the window at clouds in the odd light of changing time zones. 

Ever since suggesting the trip, he’d been a closed book. He was still himself - still loving, and still every inch the husband and father you knew -  but he was more insular, more like he was before you got married; keeping the internal workings of his mind under wraps. 

With Aoife against you, you couldn’t reach out to offer him any physical affection, so instead, you spoke to him over her head.

“You okay, sweet guy?”

He looked over at you and plastered on a smile that didn’t hide his impatience with the question.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You pulled a face at him, one that told him you weren’t an idiot. He didn’t exactly need to tell you for you to guess what this trip was really about. 

Five couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed by your knowing look. It was galling to know he no longer held any mysteries for you. He leaned his head against the plane’s wall and closed his eyes. 

It wasn’t that he was shutting you out, it was more from a strong sense that this was something he had to do alone. 

It came up in therapy a couple of times. Maybe it was his age, or maybe it was being a father, but he found himself coming back to this idea of history. Aoife’s family tree on his side was more of a hedge: extremely wide but only one generation tall. He wanted to give her an anchoring in this world beyond a strange experiment by a billionaire that resulted in her mentally unstable father.

On his mentioning these feelings, Dr Daley asked him whether it was possible he was projecting, but Five dismissed this.

To him, being Irish by birth didn’t mean much. It might explain his liking for Guinness, but that was about it. And who didn’t like Guinness? 

No. If he’d grown up in Ireland, he’d be a completely different person, as alien to him now as anyone else. For better or worse, Five was the sum total of his experiences. If Reginald was his father along with the harsh life he’d offered, then the apocalypse and all its horrors may as well be his mother. 

The woman who’d birthed him sold him for a couple of grand. He couldn’t imagine it as he glimpsed Aoife out of the corner of his eye. The first time he held his newborn daughter was transformative. He’d felt his entire world crash down and reform around her. He knew she was his on an animal level that left reason entirely behind. His very skin cried out for her.

And yet…childbirth was a bloody, agonizing mess. He’d watched you go through it, and it wasn’t exactly trauma free, even after months of mental preparation.The idea of it happening, all in the space of a few minutes, to women who had no mental preparation was nothing short of horrifying. Now he thought about it, it was amazing that so many of the other October 1st children seemed to have been kept.

But still, when he looked at Aoife, he couldn’t help but wonder. 

He looked up again, and caught your too-understanding eyes. This time, he smiled at you,  irritation giving way to affection. Over ten years you’d grown to know him better than he knew himself. You’d been there for every step as he tried to rebuild his mental health, every tough therapy session, every new drug, and every addition to his laundry list of diagnoses.

You’d known what this was about as soon as he mentioned the trip.

“Can you get the week commencing the 12th October off work?” he’d said, over his cereal one morning, around six months ago.

“I think so,” you said, surprised, “why?”

“We’re going to Ireland.”

“What?” you said, and then, “What about school?”

“They’ll be fine. Call it an educational trip,” he said, “We’ll have Aoife do a project or something.”

“What brought this on?” 

He shrugged, and the way he looked down at a newspaper on the table gave you the distinct impression he was trying to avoid your eye.

“I’ve booked seven nights in County Clare, staying in this huge castle. Dates back to the 17th Century. Aoife’s gonna lose her mind.”

You studied him for a few moments as he sipped his coffee, eyes stock-still on the newspaper, not really reading it.

“Weren’t you born in County Clare?” you asked, gently.

“Mmhm,” he replied, blandly, turning a page.

You waited, and when he didn’t elaborate, you just stuck out a hand and laid it on his forearm. *** When you arrived at Shannon airport, it was raining. It rained like a veil of mist, pin-pricking your faces in a moist cloud of chill wind. It was mid morning, though the foggy skies made it indistinguishable from any other time of day. It made Five glad of his coat, and he paused outside the terminal to zip it to his chin. 

Aoife rubbed her eyes and looked around at the gray, concrete parking lot

“Where are we going?” she asked, in sleepy confusion.

“Not far,” you said, squeezing her hand as Five wheeled your luggage.

The rented Skoda estate was comfortable enough, although not what Five would prefer to be driving. Still, it did the job. As you helped Aoife strap into a booster seat, he had to concede that, on unfamiliar roads, it was more important that style give way to safety.

The thought made him smile to himself as he loaded the luggage into its roomy, sensible trunk. Sometimes it still seemed odd to find himself having such daddish thoughts. It was odd, but good too. 

The environs of the airport faded into the misty rain behind you, and you very soon found yourselves in country that more naturally sprang to mind when you imagined Ireland. 

The landscape was mostly flat and green, damp fields stretching out to the horizon on every side. Short but lush trees and hedges lined the dual carriageway, occasionally leading to taller trees and more advanced woodland, but it mostly served to insulate the surrounding farmland from the road. 

“Do you think there are fairies in those woods?” you asked Five, conversationally, eyeing Aoife out of the corner of your eye. 

“Hm,” Five said, playing along, “It’s possible.”

“Fairies?” Aoife said, her interest piqued as you intended. 

“That’s right,” he said, “there are lots of stories of fairies in Ireland.”

“Will we see some?”

“Probably not,” you smiled, “but it’s fun to pretend.”

As you got deeper into the countryside, stone walls ran along the roadside. Every few miles or so, the fields gave way to the occasional, squat house; all rendered in white with gray slate roofs. They were small, asymmetrical; clearly built for function over form. Once or twice a chimney smoked, bringing with it the smell of peat smoke on the air. 

As you traveled, the sun started to cut through the haze, although the rain didn’t let up, coming down in those same misty clouds. The trees began to thicken, until the land on one side of the road was completely obscured with woodland. At last, you came to a grand iron gate. 

“We’re here.” 

Aoife shuffled excitedly in the booster, trying to peek out from behind the passenger seat to see ahead.

You passed a gatehouse, and soon the thick trees gave way to a simple avenue, leading you up a drive surrounded by lush lawns, upon which small brown rabbits were dotted, those nearest the drive lolloping away from the skoda as it crunched along the gravel.

Aoife was predictably excited by these, and it took some stern words from you to stop her removing her seatbelt and blinking from the car to chase them.

But as you rounded a corner and Ballycarnane castle became visible across the small lake surrounding it on two sides, the rabbits were completely forgotten.

“Look!” she said, in high-pitched awe, “It’s a castle!”

“So it is,” Five said, as if only just noticing it.

It was huge, robust, and square in formation, built with solid gray stone with battlements topping sturdy towers on rising ground. Fountains, trimmed hedges and perfectly mower-lined lawns decorated its immediate environs. At the top of the tallest tower, an Irish flag flew. 

“Is there a princess in there?” Aoife asked, breathlessly, kicking the back of your seat in her glee. 

“Ci sarà presto, cara.” Five said, quietly, a smile playing about his face. 

“Are we staying near here? Can we go visit? Please?”

You looked at Five. He was loving this, you knew, as much as he tried to hide his self-satisfied smile. He gave you the nod to deliver the final bombshell. He was always sweet that way: his daughter’s glee was all the reward he needed. He didn’t need to take the credit too.

“We’re staying right here.” you said. 

“IN THE CASTLE?”

“That’s right,” you chuckled.

Aoife exploded, letting out a series of shrill shrieks that made both you and her father wince.

“Ouch,” you said, at the redoubled kicks to the back of your seat. 

“ WE’RE STAYING IN A CASTLE!”

“Esatto, principessa,” Five replied, pulling into one of the parking spots, “and it’s a very fancy place, so best behavior, okay? You gotta act just like a real princess.”

“CAN I WEAR A PRINCESS DRESS?”

“We’ll see,” you said, “now calm down , sweetie.” *** The next couple of days passed in a blur of sight-seeing, fairy-hunting and princess games. You and Five made excellent ladies in waiting, or else the king and queen, knights, or whatever else Aoife decreed.

Always unable to resist giving his daughter anything she asked for, Five bought not one, but two princess dresses from the ridiculously overpriced boutique attached to the hotel. He also returned with a beautiful, pure silk dressing gown for you, although you suspected this was partly to buy you off after spoiling Aoife.

It was mid-afternoon on Wednesday, you and Five stood on the lawn watching as Aoife tripped over her grass-stained skirts as she climbed a tree stump just for the joy of jumping off. 

“I think I’m going to walk into town,” he said, casually.

You looked at him. 

“Into town?”

“Yes.”

He caught your eye, and his expression was unreadable enough to be perfectly legible to you.

He stood a little apart from you, hands in the pockets of his corduroy trousers. He looked unlike himself, standing there in sturdy walking boots and a thick, oversized cable knit sweater over a flannel shirt. His hair played around his face in the slight breeze, masking and then revealing his face. 

He looked into your eyes, and you saw the grim determination there.

“Do you want us to come with you?” you asked.

“No,” he said, calmly, “you enjoy yourselves here. I’ll be back before sundown.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, approaching him and putting a hand on his upper arm.

“Yes darling,” he said, calmly. 

You understood. Five’s tendency to try and face things alone was a habit born of the apocalypse. He was insular; self reliant to an unhealthy degree, but you suspected that this wasn’t like this. 

This was no impending apocalypse, this was something intensely personal. Processing it himself was no bad thing. This was about him, and part of you knew that he was only standing here at all because he had the security of knowing you’d be there, whenever he was ready to let you in; be it tonight, tomorrow, or months from now. 

“Okay,” you said with a reassuring smile. *** It was a four mile walk from the castle itself into Ballycarnane. He walked almost as the crow flew, across fields; down farm lanes and public footpaths; through wooden gates that creaked with age. The rain spat occasionally, and even the hood of his coat couldn’t keep it from blowing into his eyes. 

As he walked, he couldn’t let his mind drift: it was caught in the features of the landscape, keeping him present in every step. He was struck by the wilderness of it all, even as its habitation was constantly declared by the presence of tarmac and the occasional lonely dwelling.

He tramped over damp gorse and heather, taking detours whenever the ground became too marshy to walk on. His walking boots were good quality and supportive, but that didn’t mean he needed to brave the outskirts of a bog when he could retreat to serpentine, single track roads. 

He’d thought the land was relatively flat when he arrived yesterday, but no sooner had the marshy areas fallen behind him as he walked into rugged, rocky countryside, dotted with pine woods.

This might have been his home, he mused. He might have been familiar with this environment, these roads and the ever-present stone walls, as sturdy as they appeared ramshackle. How might he have spent his childhood? This rain on his face, these clouds above him. Green as far as the eye could see. 

Gradually, more and more signs of habitation sprung up around him: the roads became fractionally wider, the houses more varied and frequent as he approached the outskirts of the town. Now he was on streets, the hedges neatly kept, and there were road markings too, single tracks leading onto dual carriageways. 

At last, he passed a sign welcoming him to the town proper, and he began to pass others bustling around him, speed humps, housing estates, white vans and churches. A woman with a stroller thanked him quietly as he stood aside off the sidewalk to let her pass.

He passed a convenience store, an undertakers, a shop selling fancy cheese and wine, and then he saw it: across from a pub was a butcher’s shop. 

Though many of the shops and houses on Ballycarnane’s main street were painted in bright colors, and many other buildings were of the dull concrete variety he’d grown used to back home, the default building style in this area seemed to be those single story, white rendered buildings with those gray roof tiles. His mother’s butcher’s shop was one of these, with a large window displaying wares. 

Below the building’s blue gables, a mural on the outside of the building depicted a cow, sheep and pig. To Five’s mind, they looked inappropriately happy to be depicted, given the context. Above them, in hand-painted italics read: ‘ Jones Family Butchers’, beneath them, ‘ Est.1979’.

He knew her name was Efa Jones, but seeing the name was odd. He was here. *** “Okay, princess Aofie,” you called, as Five’s figure retreated down the gravel drive, “we’re going to get started on your school project.”

“But Mooommy,” she said, gesturing to the tree stump as if there were depths to its joys she had as yet not discovered. 

“What if we did it about the fairies of Ballycarnane?”

Aoife still looked skeptical.

“You remember John from this morning?”

Aoife nodded. She had exchanged a hearty conversation about the rabbits and deer that roamed the grounds with the old man working as the hotel’s senior concierge.

“Well, he told me there’s a fairy fort nearby. You want to go?”

“Yeah!” she said, enthusiastically, jumping from the tree stump one final time, bounding towards you taking your hand. 

“And,” you continued, setting off, “he said once we’d been to go and find him, and he'd tell us a story all about it. If you write his story down and draw some pictures, that can be your project to show Mx Leyton.”

*** Five finished his third Guinness. 

He’d been nursing the beers for over two hours, looking out of grimy windows into the butcher’s shop across the way. He could see movement within, but no detail. Only two or three customers had been in and out in all the time he watched. 

The pub was a spit and sawdust kind of place. The Weaver’s Inn had a cheap paneling on the walls, mismatched dark wood chairs and a carpet that looked like it hadn’t been changed since before the butcher’s shop was established. 

On a Wednesday daytime in October, there had been only one other patron when he arrived, an old man who looked at him with slight suspicion as he entered, but now, as five o’clock drew nearer, people began to trickle in, and there were over five tables occupied. 

He looked into the bottom of his glass. It was now or never.

He recognised her from the newspaper clipping he found as soon as he walked into the store. She must have been pushing seventy, only five or six years younger than himself. 

Her back was bent into a painful curve over her butcher’s block, though she scrubbed at the salted wood with her metal-bristled brush with more than enough vigor. As his entrance caused a bell above the door to give a little trill, she looked up. 

Her wrinkled face was dominated by a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, white hair scraped back beneath a hairnet. Her brown eyes were slightly misty with the beginnings of cataracts.

“It’s just the pre-cut now,” she said, nodding towards the block, “you’ve left it late.”

“No problem,” Five said, watching her lay down her brush with the air of one not keen to be interrupted. 

He approached the counter slowly, forcing himself to look down through the glass at the meat on display. 

“What’ll you have?”

She exuded a stern, no nonsense attitude. Customer service might be in her job, but not in her nature, it seemed. 

“Uh,” Five said, uncharacteristically unsure, “steak,” he said, suddenly.

“What type and how much” she prompted, approaching the counter. 

“Uh-” he said again.

“Tourist, are you?” she said, shrewdly.

All the Irish accents he’d heard until now were lilting, but hers lilted differently. 

“Is it that obvious?” Five smiled, looking back down at the counter.

“American?” she asked, as if it were an accusation. 

“Yup.”

“Staying at the castle, I’ll bet.”

“Correct.”

“Sure. You’ve got that silver-spoon look about you.”

Five let out something halfway between a chuckle and a scoff.

“Well, you might say I landed on my feet.”

“You telling me they let you cook steak in those fancy bedrooms?” she asked, skeptically.

Five shifted uncomfortably. She was inconveniently shrewd. 

He guessed he knew where he got it from. 

“We’re self-catering,” he lied, and then, as it came into his thoughts, “I’d say you’re not local yourself, Efa.”

“How d’you know my name?” she asked, suspiciously. 

Shit.

“The bartender at the Weavers Inn,” he said, with a tight smile - she had him on his toes in the way few people could manage - “I told him I wanted a good steak and he said you were the lady to talk to.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“That’s as nice as Liam Moore’s been about me in thirty years,” she muttered “So my beef’s good enough for out-of-towners but not good enough supply his dive of a pub?”

 But then, in answer to his question:

“You’ve got a good ear. I was born in Caerphilly.”

“Wales?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise.

“Wales indeed,” she said briskly, “Now, I’ve got a nice rib-eye, fillet’s only thirty-five euro per kilogram today, and this sirloin’s nicely marbled. What will you have?”

Five didn’t process this, “You’re Welsh?”

“Half.” she said, slightly perturbed, “Mam was Irish, Dad was Welsh. We came here when I was ten.”

It all clicked into place. 

“Efa’s a Welsh name,” he said, coming to the conclusion out loud, “That’s why you’re not Aoife.”

“That’s true,” she said, “I was named for my father’s mother.”

She watched him curiously as he cast his eyes back down to the counter. 

“My daughter’s name is Aoife.” he said, in an attempt at off-handedness.

There was silence then, and Five lowered his eyes. 

“And what’s your name?” she asked.

He swallowed. ***

You warmed yourself in an armchair by the fire, while Aoife’s cheeks were still pinched red from the cold outside. 

John sat beside her on one of the couches in the hotel foyer, flanked by two suits of armor.  He was smart in his gray waistcoat, a gold name badge catching the light at his lapel. His white shirtsleeves were immaculate, his thin, white hair combed over his bald head. His bright blue eyes seemed permanently crinkled into a smile.

“Before we begin, I wonder if I can arrange a hot drink for you both? Will you have a cup of tea, coffee? Hot chocolate for the little one?”

“Can I have marshmallows?” Aoife asked you eagerly.

“She has to have marshmallows, Mammy,” said John, twinkling at you.

“Of course,” you said, “And I’d love a coffee, thanks.”

“A baileys coffee?”

“I shouldn’t,” you said, though very willing to be persuaded.

“You’re on your holidays,” John said, waving aside your diffidence. He caught the eye of one of the junior concierges, motioned him over and made the order.

“Now,” he said, resettling himself, “this is rather a recent fairy story,” John said, “One my mother said happened when I was only a lad, going on for fifty years ago, I’d say.”

You looked at Aoife. Predictably, she looked astonished. To her, fifty years previously may as well be prehistory.

“This story’s not for the faint of heart,” John continued, “Can you handle a spooky story, little one?”

Aoife nodded, wide eyed, her pen poised ready to take notes over a freshly bought notebook. You looked quickly over at him with a small, doubtful grimace. 

He smiled and nodded back at you, taking the hint. 

“Just be assured that this is only a story, now,” he said to her, “It’s not real, it’s just something to tell one another for a bit of fun, alright? I was sixteen when my Mam told me this, and she acted like it had only just happened. It was just to scare me out of walking home late at night. You understand?”

“Yeah,” she said, eager for him to begin.

“The fairies you might have heard about before are not like these fairies. Our fairies are not gentle or very kind. They don’t grant wishes and they’re not to be tangled with.”

Slowly, Aoife wrote down a note in her large, uneven cursive. 

“Fairy forts like the one you visited today are supposed to be where creatures from the fairy realm gather. Did you see any there today?”

Aoife shook her head.

“I thought not,” he said, “they’re supposed to gather at night. And that’s when the story starts. Mam said there was an old man walking home to Ballycarnane and he walked too close to that fairy fort.”

John paused as Aoife laboriously copied down what she’d heard, watching her write and offering the odd prompt to aid her memory. The drinks arrived in this interval, and you sipped your coffee gratefully as you watched them.

“Now this fella wasn’t local, you see,” John continued, “he lived nearby but he wasn’t born around here, so he didn’t know you needed to give them a wide berth. And then the poor fool was confronted by a banshee, wailing.”

“What’s a bant-shee?” Aoife asked.

“A banshee ,” he said, “a terrible fairy. Always a bad omen. They look like women with long hair, and they appear to people, screaming and crying. The story goes that if you see or hear a banshee, it means someone you love’s going to die.”

Aoife scribbled this down, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Remember it’s not real though,” he added, reassuringly, adding a little cold milk to cool her hot chocolate for her, “that’s just what they say.”

“What did the man do?” Aoife asked, too transfixed to take the drink from him when he offered.

“Well, he knew what a banshee was, alright, and he knew what it meant. So he tried to beg her not to take his wife or daughter, only it was too late. The banshee wailed, ‘oh no, you’ve disturbed us, so now you’ll pay the price: either you choose a death, or you’ll give the fairies a newborn child of your blood before the sun goes down tomorrow’. ”

He paused to allow Aoife to write down this last, and then pushed her drink towards her. 

“Drink up, pet.”

Aoife took the hot chocolate from him and took a gulp, leaving foamy residue around her mouth, still watching John with wonder in her eyes. The cup wobbled in its saucer, and you leaned forward to help her put it back on the coffee table, lest her princess dress get covered in even more dirt. 

“Then what happened?” she asked.

“Well, this old man and his wife were too old to have any more children, and their only daughter was grown, and she certainly wasn’t going to have a newborn baby so soon, so he thought he had a chance of beating that banshee.”

You could tell even from several feet away that Aoife’s writing was becoming more and more illegible in her haste to hear the rest of the story. You sensed that some translation and aiding of her memory might come in useful when she came to write up the project.

“So the old man agreed. He said, ‘you can have a newborn of my blood before the sun sets tomorrow,’ thinking he could cheat the fairies out of their due. And what do you think happened next?”

Aoife shook her head, unknowing.

“Well, that man fell into an enchanted sleep, and woke up by the fairy fort at mid-afternoon the next day. No sooner than he woke up did he hurry home to check on his wife and daughter.”

Aoife wasn’t even writing notes anymore, hanging on John’s every word.

“And he found a terrible scene.” John said, ruefully, “While he slept, his daughter had given birth to a changeling, though she certainly hadn’t been pregnant the day before.”

You sat up. 

“What’s a changeling?” Aofie asked. 

“A baby the fairies leave when they steal a human one. They’re supposed to be cursed children, sometimes they’re evil and naughty, and sometimes they have strange powers.”

You leaned forward and opened your mouth to speak, but John spoke before you could ask him anything. 

“And then, the old man realized what he’d done: when there was no newborn to take, the fairies took away his daughter’s future firstborn instead, forcing her to birth the changeling in its place.”

“What happened?” you asked. 

John looked over at you, surprised by the sudden seriousness in your tone.

“Well, the old man and his wife died without any grandchildren. Their daughter never married, and their line died out.”

“What happened to the changeling?” you asked. 

“Nobody knows,” John said, returning his gaze to Aoife with a smile and mysterious tone. ***

“I’m Five.”

There was a long silence. He chewed his lips as he looked down at the meat, not willing or able to meet her eyes.

At last, just to say something that might break the tension, he motioned to a pile of beef.

“That brisket looks good.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but when she did, her no-nonsense voice was firmly back in place.

“It’s the best in the county,” she said briskly, “you can’t beat Irish beef and won’t find a nicer cut, especially when it’s slow cooked.”

“Sounds good,” he said, awkwardly.

“Will you have a piece of that instead of steak?” 

“Sure,” Five said, relieved to have the decision made for him.

“To serve how many?” 

“Just three,” he said, watching her hands as they reached into the display of meat. 

They were just like his. The same long, bony fingers. The same bones and tendons standing out on the back of her hands as her fingers flexed. 

“This piece will do you,” she said, decisively.

Five risked a look up at her, and her brown eyes met his green. 

He must have got his eyes from one of his grandparents, he thought, and then Efa looked away from him quickly. 

“I have a secret recipe for brisket” she said, as she took the beef to the scale and weighed it, “Falls apart in the mouth. It was my mother’s, and I only got it out of her on her deathbed, she prized it so much.”

Five couldn’t resist this opening. He had to know:

“Will you pass it down to your kids?”

She paused for a mere fraction of a second and then she turned to ready brown paper in which to wrap the meat.

“I don’t have children,” she said, firmly, her back still to him, “I was never the marrying or the mothering type.”

As she folded the first layer around the brisket, Five blinked rather rapidly. There was a tight fist somewhere in his abdomen. 

When he mastered himself, he spoke again.

“I understand.”

She nodded, still facing away from him, wrapping the brisket carefully in brown paper, still facing away from him at a plastic table.

“Still,” she said, quietly, “it seems a crying shame that nobody should taste my Mam’s brisket after I’m gone.“

She stuck a label to the wrapped beef, holding the paper in place. Then, from behind her ear, she pulled a stubby pencil, knife-sharpened into a rough, angular shape. 

She tore another small portion of brown paper and began to write with the sort of fevered energy Five himself used to write equations on the concrete walls of the Argyle public library. 

“Now, this is to serve six or so, but you can scale as you like.”

Her pencil clicked smartly along the paper.

“You start with a rub. Dark brown sugar, onion powder, mustard powder, garlic powder, cayenne pepper and salt. Mam would usually leave it there, but I’ve had success with paprika too.”

She looked up at him, pausing in her writing, eyebrows raised imperiously.

“Only you make sure it’s smoked paprika, alright?”

“Of course,” he said, slightly taken aback at her forcefulness. 

“Good,” she said, “And the key is to leave it coated in the rub for at least twelve hours in the fridge. Then, when you cook, a lot of recipes would have you use beef stock, but for my Mam’s recipe, it’s beer or nothing: a nice ale. None of that crap excuse for lager you lot try to pass off as beer.”

“Got it,” Five said, catching her flow, “No American beer. Would Guinness work?”

Efa pulled a face.

“You can try it, I suppose,”

She fell silent as she jotted down the final instructions. 

Five watched her as she worked, jaw set, and eyes intense. She finished the recipe with a flourish, folded the paper and handed it to him smartly across the counter. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“And that’ll be thirteen euro forty-five.”

He reached into his pants pocket and handed her the money as she placed the parcel of meat in a paper bag and handed it over. As she searched in the cash register for the change, he watched her lined face, the rim of her glasses obscuring her eyes.

When she put the coins in his hands, her cold fingers brushed his.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you,” he repeated.

He looked at her, trying to do…he knew not what. He only knew that if he was going to drink her in, now was his opportunity to do so.

“Goodbye,” he said and, with it, there was finality. He wouldn’t come back here. This was the first and last time he’d see her. 

His mother.

“Goodbye Five,” she replied, and her lips twitched into the first smile she’d given him. 

It was small, sad, and spoke no love, but it spoke good will just as clearly.  *** Five arrived back at the hotel just before seven. You were sitting on the four poster bed in your new robe, reading a book. Aoife was already asleep in the suite’s adjoining room, the hangings of her own bed drawn around it. 

“Hi,” you said, as he entered. 

“Hey,” he replied, as he closed the door behind him. 

His boots were muddy, his hair damp and windswept. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I already got Aoife dinner. She’s tuckered out. Long day.”

“Me too,” he said, heavily. 

He turned back to the door and the coat hook on its back. He made as if to take off his coat and hang it with the rest. But instead, he sagged and leaned against the door, his forehead against Aoife’s coat.

You sighed sadly, placed down your book and crossed the room towards him. 

“Come here, sweet guy,” you murmured.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind and laid your head against his, occasionally planting kisses at his hairline. Five let out a sigh of his own at this, and you felt him relax into you slightly.

“How about I run you a bath? I’ll order us room service and a bottle of wine.”

“That sounds nice,” Five said, voice muffled against Aoife’s bright blue raincoat.

You helped him off with his own coat - oddly heavy, you noticed - and put down on the bed. 

“I’ll go run the bath. You get those clothes off okay?”

“Thanks dearest.”

When you returned from the bathroom, where a piping hot bubble bath was already running into the claw-foot tub, Five had stripped to his underwear, sorting his laundry.

“Will you order the pinot noir?” he asked.

“Still don’t trust me to choose wine?” you asked, amused, returning to his coat, “not even after ten years?”

“Never,” he said, smiling.

“Why do you have almost two pounds of meat in your pocket?” you asked, having fished out the brown paper bag emblazoned with: Jones Family Butchers, Est.1979.

“Long fucking story,” he mumbled, “just put it in the trash. I don’t know why I bought it.”

“And what’s this?” you asked, finding the piece of folded paper.

“Nothing,” he said, simply, removing his underwear and putting them in with the dirty clothes, “can you just put it with our passports?.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, he disappeared into the bathroom. 

Ignoring his request to put in the trash, you put the meat in the fridge that contained the extortionately-priced minibar, thinking you’d deal with it in the morning.

You opened the folded piece of paper as you went to hang his coat. At first, you thought the handwriting that recorded the recipe was his: there were the same bold lines, the same frenetic energy in the triple underlining of the word ‘smoked’ in ‘smoked paprika’, but the more you looked, the more differences you saw. This wasn’t his handwriting.

You refolded it, opened the room’s safe and filed it along with your passports and boarding passes. *** The helpful voice on the other end of the phone informed you that dinner itself would arrive in around forty minutes, while the wine would be sent straight up. Just enough time for you to place Five’s pajamas on a radiator to warm before a knock at the door announced its arrival.

Bottle and glasses in hand, you joined Five in the bathroom, settling on the low bench beside the shower, fogged up with the heat coming off the bathwater.

Five’s eyes were closed, lying with his head against the rim of the tub, breathing the steamy, fragranced air deeply.

“Wine,” you announced.

“Mm,” he said, contentedly. 

He opened his eyes, his submerged left hand surfacing to receive the large glass you’d poured him.

“Thanks beautiful,” he said, looking up at you, eyes lingering for a moment at the cleavage visible where your robe met at the chest. 

You raised an ironic brow. Clearly he wasn’t totally cut up over this. 

As he took his first sip, he let out a small moan.

“Good?” you asked, amused.

“Heavenly,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

He might not be so distraught that he couldn’t appreciate a nice view of boob, but he still needed this. You scooched your bench closer so that you could run your fingers through his hair.

He hummed appreciatively as you petted him, and you sat that way for several minutes, watching him unwind and fall into gentle repose. 

Who could give him up? With that smooth skin, that dimple on his cheek, his parted lips, his keen eyes, framed by lashes as thick as his soft hair. 

Not you.

At last, when he had worked his way sufficiently down his glass, you topped him up and asked:

“So, how was it?”

“I’m not sure,” he said thoughtfully, “it turns out I’m a quarter Welsh.” *** The sun came out for the last couple of days of the trip. On your final full day there, you were taking a few hours in the hotel spa. Five, however, was to be found being chased around one of the lawns by his daughter, he laughing, she screeching in delight.

“Come back!” she said, in mock outrage, “you need to have YOUR SHOTS!”

He barked, back bent and arms out in front of him like forepaws.

“Never!” he yelled, deploying a perfectly executed commando roll to evade her. 

Unfortunately for him he commando-rolled straight into a large rhododendron bush.

“IF YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR SHOTS YOU WILL GET SICK AND DIE, YOU BAD DOG.” yelled Aoife, holding a small stick clasped in her fist like it was a knife she was about to go full-psycho with.  

“But I don’t want to!” Five whined, trying to disentangle himself as Aoife advanced upon him, “you’re a big meanie vet! Woof!”

“I’M A BIG NICE VET, ACTUALLY.” she said, as he wriggled away from her once more, “YOU’RE JUST A BIG BABY.”

“I’m a big baby who’s getting away!” Five grinned, looking back over his shoulder and sticking his tongue out at her as he darted away.

And then he tripped over a tree root and fell with a thud onto the soft grass. He flipped over, laughing, as Aoife approached. 

“A-ha!” she said, triumphantly, taking advantage of his compromised to jump on top of him, stick raised. 

“Oof!” he said, winded as she straddled his waist. He tried to grab her wrist, but it was too late: she managed to poke the stick into his upper arm.

“There.” she said, “Now what was all that fuss about, little dog?”

“Owwww,” Five cried, pouting and whining like the dog he was supposed to be. 

“Pull yourself together!” Aoife said, affecting a clipped, professional voice, “Or you won’t get a candy.”

“I'm a dog, I'm not allowed candy! I want a treat!” Five replied, indignantly. 

“WELL YOU HAVE TEN MORE SHOTS FIRST.”

“Surely this is unethical?” Five expostulated, his childish affect replaced by a more adult one as she held his arm down and ‘injected’ him (stabbed him repeatedly through his sweater).

“I am NOT un-effable.” 

“Unethical,” Five corrected, rarely able to stop himself from taking advantage of any teachable moment, “it means morally wrong.”

“What does morally mean?” she said, with a small roll of her eyes.

“Ouch. It means how you behave. If you’re morally wrong then it means you’re behaving wrongly.”

“Then you’re being unethable!” she said, triumphantly, “because if you don’t get your shots then you’ll make other doggies sick too.”

“But do the ends justify the means?” Five mused, grinning. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Thank you for my shots. I’m feeling much better, even if my immune system has eleven different attenuated pathogens to deal with.”

Daddy, you always talk funny,” she said, sounding equally amused and irritated with him. 

He put his arms around her and pulled her down onto his chest. 

“E’ vero, cara.”

He kissed where her hair parted at the crown of her head, feeling the deep damp of the soil beginning to soak into his sweater, but not caring at all.

“Usi sempre parole così grosse,” she replied, and he could hear you in her tone, the loving mockery in it. 

He held her to him tighter and kissed her again, harder this time.

“I love you,” he said, feelingly.

“I love you too,” she replied, smiling down at him, her chubby cheeks dimpling as she did.

He felt his chest heave as he looked at her, and when he spoke again, his voice wasn’t quite his own.

“Being your Dad is my favorite thing about myself. And it's my favourite thing to do.”

And it was. He’d saved the world for the love of his adopted family, but perhaps he’d fought so fiercely because some part of him longed for this. Being a father and husband felt intrinsically, cosmically right, and made more sense than any mathematical logic. 

Perhaps his daughter was always written there, deep in his DNA. He didn’t believe in fate, but still, some part of him knew he was supposed to be here, his daughter in his arms and days upon days of rain soaking from the earth, through his sweater and onto his skin. 

He rocked her slightly, there on the grass, one hand in her hair and the other at her back; his baby girl, no matter how much she grew. 

This was what he needed. You and her. You were both his reward and privilege to love.

Aoife considered his words, slightly taken aback by his sudden affection and not really understanding his intensity. After a moment, she spoke thoughtfully:

“Mine is my hair.”

“What?” he asked.

“My favorite thing about myself. I like it because it's curly but not too curly.”

Five laughed, and she laughed too as she was jostled by the movement of his stomach. She shuffled up his body, causing him to flinch away from a potential knee to the balls but, thankfully, she avoided that. 

Instead, she crawled so that her head was level with his, grabbed him by each ear, and kissed his face.  *** At dinner that last night, Aoife coloured the pictures she’d drawn for her project, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she tried her best to color within the lines. The pencil crayons you chose for the job were tactical: unlikely to mark the pure white tablecloth. 

The waiter brought your drinks. As he did so, he caught your eye and nodded conspiratorially towards the door, where Five couldn’t see him. 

You looked over subtly. John stood in the doorway to the kitchen, motioning to you that the prepared surprise would be only two more minutes.  

“Can we see the menu?” Five asked. 

The waiter hesitated.

“I actually ordered for us all,” you said.

“Hm,” Five said, looking curiously up at you, “what are we having?”

“Thank you,” you said to the waiter, dismissing him for now. 

You turned back to Five, and he was watching you with curious eyes. You caught his significantly, and spoke to him now with lines under your words. 

“It seemed a shame to throw away that brisket you brought back the other day.”

He drew in a breath through his nose. You could tell he was unsure how to feel. You placed your hand over his.

“I copied the recipe too,” you said, softly, over the scratch scratch of Aoife’s pencil and the quiet chink of knives and forks on plates, “I thought you should try it before we go home.”

Five looked down at the tablecloth and put his other hand on top of yours. When he looked back up at you, his jaw gave a slight tremor.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly, “truly.”

You smiled, relieved.

“Are you happy?” you said, checking nevertheless.

Five gave one slow outward breath, and in those green eyes that low light sometimes disguised as blue, you saw an intensity of feeling that was hard to witness without bringing tears to your own eyes.

“I couldn’t be happier,” he said, so earnestly that Aoife looked up in surprise.

He wasn’t just talking about the brisket, you knew.

You smiled, losing the battle and swiping away a tear as you and Five squeezed each other's hands. 

“Good,” you said, sniffling, “because I tipped the kitchen way too much money to make this happen.”

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom, @kaybreezy3000

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

Disclaimer: As an English person, I was conscious of the potential for unintended xenophobia as I wrote this, especially given the fast and loose attitude I've given to folklore. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get any Irish sensitivity readers before posting this though. I have a lot of Irish family and have visited many times in my life, but I'm aware I have blind spots just by nature of being English. If any Irish folk want to discuss anything that made them uncomfortable, my DMs are open :)

[cuteniaarts]

Fanny, my sweet, beautiful girl

17.11.2012 – 14.04.2019

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi lashing out on his pregnant wife only to beg her for forgiveness later

Pairing: Sanemi x pregnant!reader

Word Count: 3,1k

Synopsis: Like every week, you find yourself on your way back from Shinobu's estate and your pregnancy check-up. Little did you know what horror awaits you at your own home with your husband almost killing two kids...

Warnings: Sanemi is mean in this one and I mean it, extreme hurt but also comfort in the end so don't worry, full Shinazugawa package regarding language and violence lol, not proofread because I have to leave now

Thank you sooo much for that cool request @itsmscoco and I'm sorry it took a while. I really hope you like what I came up with 🤍

You rub your minor belly. For a woman, a pregnancy should feel like a trip to heaven. After all, you are blessed with developing a child that is half you and half your husband. Oh, your beloved and surprisingly gentle husband who always makes sure that you get enough sleep, that you nutrition yourself properly. But even the wind hashira can’t do a single thing against your constant sickness and pain.

“Please try this out, (y/n). Don’t hesitate to come here again if you need something else. You really have an unfortunate pregnancy when it comes to nausea”, Shinobu comments gently while giving your belly a little massage.

“Don’t get me wrong, I am so excited about the honor of caring for a child in my own body. But honestly, I’m so glad when this pregnancy is over”, you huff while taking a deep breath in.

Please, don’t vomit all over the insect pillar who’s just trying to help. You’ve been here what feels like everyday since finding out you’re pregnant. Well, to be exact, Shinobu is the one who suggested that you might expect a child.

Because of your never-ending sickness.

“Oh, there’s nothing to get wrong at all! After all, your pregnancy is a rather difficult one. But I’m sure Shinazugawa is taking good care of you!”

“He definitely does. My husband is an angel”, you reply in an instant.

You can’t wait to go back home. Even though your sleep-drunken eyes won’t be able to stay open longer than maybe a few hours, even though you weren’t able to catch a proper glimpse at Sanemi’s part in the on-going hashira training until now, you can’t wait to go back home. Back into your estate, back into the arms of your beloved husband.

“Not quite the codename I’d use for him, but that’s just what love does, right? I will send a kakushi along with you. Otherwise, Shinazugawa might show up and threaten me”, Shinobu jokes while helping you to get up.

“Thank you for your help. Again.”

You pull the insect hashira into a deep hug. How lucky you should consider yourself for the opportunity to call Shinobu your friend, that Sanemi laid his eyes on you. Out of all the countless women around, the ones with faces like porcelain and bodies so well-formed you can’t hold a candle against every single one of them. But still, he chose you.

“Come on, (y/n). Why are you crying?”, Shinobo whispers into your ear while rubbing small circles onto your back.

“I’m just a little overwhelmed from everything I guess”, you mumble against her comforting shoulder.

Just a few months ago, you would have laughed at anyone who told you that your life would turn out like this. Of course, you’ve lost countless good friends and family members on the way and living with a suborn husband like Sanemi isn’t always easy. But somehow, the two of you always make it work.

Right?

-at the wind hashira estate-

“We are almost there. Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m just a little tired from walking, that’s all!”

Truth is, your feet hurt like hell. Shinobu reported about women who don’t even feel their baby until the second trimester. Why are your feet already swollen, your belly bloated, your guts constantly turning? And there’s still so much ahead.

“Looks like Shinazugawa-sama received a new bunch of trainees after the other corps members all landed in Kocho-sama’s hospital wing”, the kakushi next to you comments dryly.

“Was it really that bad?”

Of course you heard about the rather brutal training methods of your husband. After all, even the walls of his estate aren’t thick enough to stop every single scream from reaching your ears. But still…

“It was pretty bad. Some of the-“

Glass cracking. Screams from afar. Out of instinct, you pick up your pace until you dash towards your home, sweat now dripping from every pore. What happened? Is Sanemi alright? He wouldn’t leash out on one of his students like that. Something must have happened. A demon? No, it’s still daytime. But what is it?

“He’s back! He’s back! That cold-blooded man! Lie down and pretend that you’ve fainted!”, a blonde-haired boy screams while almost collapsing onto the floor.

“What are you talking about? What’s going on here?”, you press out.

Your lungs threaten to fail you, breath already tasting like pure iron.

Until your eyes find Genya.

Your guts twist and turn in every direction, almost force you to vomit all over the place. Genya shouldn’t be here. Out of all people, it shouldn’t be him. And who’s the boy next to him. That familiar scar, you’ve seen that boy before. Is it possible that…

“Kamado Tanjiro”, you breathe out.

Maybe that is even worse.

Your eyes dart around the area without an aim. Where’s Sanemi? Did he find them already? They need to leave before he finds out that they’re here, carry on with another hashira training.

“Please stop now!”, Tanjiro suddenly shouts while stretching out his arm in defence.

An uneasy feeling crawls up your spine, the dark claws of sickening foreshadowing. All you can do is standing death still right where you are and watch in sheer horror as your husband stomps out of your estate motion.

Is that your husband you love and adore, though? You know how untamed he can get especially when getting confronted with his painful past. It was never easy for him to see Genya join the demon slayer corps or realize that his mother could have been saved like Tanjiro’s sister.

But never in your entire life have you seen him like this. The empty shell of your husband, muscles tensed to the maximum and his empty orbs directed towards the two boys in front of him.

In this very moment, you’d trust him to actually kill them.

“What are you going to do? Are you planning to kill Genya?”, Tanjiro continues passionately.

Your glossy orbs are set on your husband. Would he really do something like that? What if you witness the father of your unborn child taking the life of two other human beings? Your heart can’t take it, knees threaten to fail you.

“Hell no, I’m not going to kill him. It would be easy enough to kill him, but since it’s against the rules and all…I’m going to ruin him beyond recovery!”

Until your blurry head finally makes a decision and allows your feet to run.

Straight towards the two boys.

Straight into the firing line.

Straight into the sight of your now maniac husband.

“You won’t do any of these things, you hear me?”, you jeer at him with your new-found courage.

“(y/n)”, Genya breathes behind you.

“How dare you to talk to innocent children like that, Sanemi?”

The man in front of you furrows his eyebrows, hands clenched into tight fists while taking a step towards you.

“Get lost. Right now”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

You swallow hard, all nerves now tingling in sheer horror. This is the first and last warning, without any doubt. The look on his stone-cold face tells you more than urgently that Sanemi isn’t playing, that he doesn’t want you here.

Maybe it’s best if you go back inside and pretend that nothing happened. He himself said that he won’t kill them, after all…

“I’m not leaving”, you bite back.

But that would mean leaving Genya alone. That would mean giving up all of your principles.

“Will you act out like this towards our child as well?”, you continue while growing bigger and bigger in front of the two boys.

He might be your husband, the love of your life. That doesn’t mean you’ll always have to do what he tells you, tough. Instinctively, you clench your hands into tight fists with your glossy eyes almost piercing through him. Enough is enough.

“If our child acts as dumb as you do, I sure as hell will!”

Oh.

Your heart drops to the floor when a nauseous wave of agony hits you with full force. Sanemi is and has always been a hot-headed man who never thought twice about the things he said. But never, not even once in your entire relationship he insulted you.

Until now.

“Is this really how you feel about me? We should support each other, you should listen to me as well as-“

“Spare me with that bullshit, (y/n)”, Sanemi spits at you.

“Get.out.of.the.way. Can’t you hear me?”

It’s like you stop living for a moment. All this time, you did your best to understand him and his grief. Everything Sanemi does comes with a logical reason behind it, even though it’s hard to see from time to time. But lashing out at you like that?

“Stop being so disrespectful to me right now. I am your wife-“

“Right now, you’re my problem”, he jeers back.

“And now get off my sight and let me finish this real quick-“

You don’t know what made you act the way you just did. Was it his cruel behaviour, the way his words cut through your heart like a thousand knives? Before your husband is even able to finish his sentence, your palm races towards his cheek with full force.

The world around you goes silent, frightful gazes glued onto you while you can’t stop your tears from falling anymore.

“Is this how you’re acting around your pregnant wife by now, how you’ll treat innocent children? If that’s the live you chose, I’m not a part of it anymore”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, the urge to get as far away from him as possible becomes unbearable. Your feet start sprinting towards the estate on your own, carry you into your now so empty-feeling bedroom.

And finally, you allow yourself to break down and cry.

Is this really the man you love, that you’d give your life for? Your shaky fingers caress your belly mindlessly.

You can’t stay here. Not when Sanemi showed you a completely different face today. Not when this place doesn’t feel like home anymore.

-a few hours later-

“Fuck!”, Sanemi cries out on top of his lungs while dashing towards Obanai over and over.

Why can’t he get your stupid words out of his mind? The way you stood there with tears in your eyes, how he was literally able to hear your heart crack when those damned words left his mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, to drag you into the fuckery with his little brother and that Kamado boy.

But why did he say all those dumb things, then?

“You seem off, Shinazugawa”, Obanai comments dryly, hitting the wind hashira with full force again.

“I guess I fucked up”, Sanemi mumbles.

What if you won’t forgive him for today? Your last words haunt him since the moment you left him standing in the rain.

“I bet you can talk your way out of it-“

“Hell nah. I don’t think she wants to see me tonight.”

“Did you ask her, though?”

“Who the hell do you think you are anyway? You’re the one to talk, not able to confess your feelings to Mitsuri”, Sanemi barks at the man next to him.

“But yeah, maybe I should get going…”

Coming home never fuelled him with so much fright. What if you’re still angry at him, if you refuse to even talk to him? Or even worse, what if you’ll really leave him?

Sanemi’s guts turn in an instant, feet now picking up their pace with every step. He can’t lose you. Not you, the light of his life. Not when you are the only ray of sunshine in this rotting hell. What the hell did he do? The fact that he even raised his voice at you is unforgivable.

Finally, his fingers grab the door that leads to your shared bedroom, finally he’s able to make up for his mistakes of today-

His eyes widen in sheer horror.

You’re gone.

Right there where your head should rest, there’s absolutely nothing.

Panic starts rising up his chest, forces his heart down his throat.

Did you leave?

He yanks out of your shared room, eyes roaming around each and every corner of your estate. But you aren’t there. You aren’t here.

“My lady is at the love hashira’s estate.”

Sanemi darts up immediately, greeted by the oh so familiar voice of your personal crow.

“Is she fine, why did she-“

“With all due respect, I suggest you to control yourself before making any more insensitive comments to my lady-“

“Who the hell do you even think you are you-“

“Your earlier spoken words really troubled her and my lady certainly does not deserve that.”

Without another word, your crow disappears into the darkness of night again.

Sanemi swallows hard. Fuck, did he really hurt you that badly? He never wanted you to feel bad, never wanted to hurt you. Damn, he only wanted to show Genya and that Kamado boy their places. It shouldn’t have hit you. Out of all people, why did he have to hurt you?

“I need to tell her”, he mumbles under his breath before dashing towards the love hashira estate.

-at Mitsuri’s-

“I can’t believe Shinazugawa said something like this to you, (y/n)! You are super far away from being dumb, after all! Here, eat another pancake and stay as long as you want.”, Mitsuri babbles while handing you another plate.

Your dry eyes are barely able to stay open any longer. All the grief, explaining, fighting and crying did apparently really wear you out. Good for you Mitsuri’s estate is near by and you just know she’ll always open her arms for you.

“Thank you so much for taking me in, Kanroji. I really don’t deserve your kindness”, you sniffle.

“You have to be joking, (y/n)! It’s my duty as your friend to be there for you anytime you need me! And also, I-”

Three violent knocks on Mitsuri’s wooden door almost send you over the edge. It’s past after midnight, the time closer to the morning than evening. Who would knock on Mitsuri’s door this late at night?

“Do you think that’s a demon?”, you mutter in horror, both pairs of eyes set on the door.

“I don’t think so. Let’s see!”

Before you’re able to stop Mitsuri, she rips open the door.

And reveals no other than your husband.

“Sanemi”, you breathe out.

Tears start swelling up your eyes in an instant when a flood of memories crushes you all over again. Just a few hours ago, your husband made very clear that he doesn’t want to see you again anytime soon. How did he find out that you’re here?

“(y/n), can we…have a talk?”, he mumbles with icy voice.

“Do you want to leave me?”, you blurt out.

“What?”

Is that really how you feel, what you think of him? That he’ll turn his back on you after a fight? He did say all those nasty things to you, though.

“I think I’m going out and…cook!”, Mitsuri announces while sprinting out of the door, leaving you alone in the room with all that tension and him.

Him, the man you love more than anything else in this world. And also him, who broke your heart like he never did before.

“You have to be kidding me”, Sanemi mutters under his breath.

You turn away before you lose your composure completely.

“Why are you here, Sanemi?”

“Do you really think I’m here to dump you!? You, my pregnant wife!? You can’t be fucking serious about that!”

In the matter of seconds, you find yourself surrounded by his usual so comforting arms that now hurt like daggers against your skin.

“Please, let me go, I can’t do this ri-“

“(y/n), please.”

His suffocated voice forces your eyes to dart upwards.

Instantly, your heart drops to the floor.

Is this really your husband, crying against your shoulder while pressing your body against his?

“I’m sorry for all the shit I’ve said, I’m sorry for making you feel this way. I’d never leave you, not when I’m even lucky for calling you mine. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, I just…I just can’t stand them…”

“Sanemi…”

“And I get that I don’t deserve you and that I’m a jerk for hurting you. I know you could’ve had every man you wanted-“

“Sanemi!”, you snap at him, holding onto his face tightly.

“But you’re the one I want”, you finally cry out.

“But your words hurt me. Is this really how you feel about me? Do you really think I’m a burden?”

“I was out of my fucking mind for saying that to you! You’re my blessing, my everything, the sunshine in this rotting hell. You’re…You’re my wife, right?”

That innocent look on his now tear-soaked face runs shivers down your spine, reminds you that even though he acted out today, this man is still the Sanemi Shinazugawa you fell in love with years ago.

“I am your wife”, you press out before a new wave of tears haunts you down.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). So so sorry”, he mutters again and again while kissing every tear away that escapes your eyes.

“And I’ll never talk to you like that again, I promise.”

“Will you promise to not treat Tanjiro and Genya like that ever again too?”

Sanemi shifts his weight underneath you, his orbs growing hard again. Was this too much to ask for? No. Even though you love Sanemi’s rough side as well, he simply can’t do something like this again. Not when you’re his wife, not when you are expecting his first very own child.

“I will. But only if these jerks leave me alone”, he grumbles before giving you a passionate kiss.

“That might be manageable. I want to go home now…”

“No problem, I’ll carry you-“

“You really don’t have to carry me-“

“Oh, but I sure as hell will.”

“HAVE A GOOD NIGHT YOU TWO! AND DON’T ACT LIKE A JERK AGAIN, SHINAZUGAWA!”

“Did you have to tell her everything?”

“She’s my friend, Sanemi. Of course I had to.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run

Pt 3

At some point, Soap and Gaz fall asleep on the couch, sprawled across one another. Ghost is laid back in one of the recliners, struggling to keep his eyes open as Price’s voice lulls him to sleep from the kitchen.

You're not sure how long the two of you have sat here. It took Price an hour to finally open his mouth. He has hardly met your eye since he’s started talking, hands clasped together on top of the table.

The ache you felt in your chest for these men worsened the longer Price spoke. Proud military men, tired of seeing the monsters they hunted get slaps on the wrist for atrocious crimes. Making plea deals with lawyers, getting one way tickets into luxury cells when they should be six feet underground.

You don’t realise Price has stopped talking till Soap snores, causing Dixon to shuffle at your feet, all four dogs scattered around the kitchen floor. You look him over, taking in the man now that all his bravado has been drained, leaving only the raw human underneath. Blue eyes darkened by years on the force and then years behind bars, forced into proximity with the very animals he and his team longed to put down. You’re looking at a man who fought for what was right and when justice wasn’t served in a way he deemed fit, he settled it.

Price is staring down at his hands, and you’re worried he’s going to hurt himself with how vigorously he rubs his hands together. You don’t think, reaching across the table and grasping one of his hands in yours, running your thumb across scarred knuckles. “Don’t do that.” You scold, and his head whips up to stare at you, eyes wide, hopeful but hesitant.

He looks down at your hand holding his, then back at you. “You’re not…?” He trails off, clearing his throat as he sits up straighter, letting your palm slip into his. You’re not sure what word he was going to use, but you shake your head.

“I’m… I’m sorry you all had to…” You don’t finish your sentence, letting it hang in the air between you. You’re shocked to see tears pool at the corner of his eyes but he’s quick to blink them away.

“You’re not horrified by us?” He asks, and you can tell he’s trying to fight his voice from shaking. You clear your throat, but gently squeeze his hand when his grip loosens.

“You have done… horrible things. Inhumane things.” You start, trying to pick your words carefully as you scoot your chair closer to his. He watches you warily, but there is no denying the growing hope in those eyes. “But I couldn’t imagine seeing what you saw everyday. Hearing the things you’ve heard, having to keep that all to yourself. Seeing… monsters you’ve spent years tracking get served the minimum sentence with a cozy cell waiting for them.” His hand starts to shake, and your heart breaks seeing how hard he’s fighting back the tears pooling in his eyes. “We never would have actually hurt you, I swear on my life. We just… Fuck we had been running for fucking hours through those god damn trees and-“ His voice cracks, and you gently run your thumb over the back of his hand. “Why are you being so nice?” He almost spits the word, but his grip on your hand tightens.

Grounding.

“You did as I asked. You told me the truth.” You mirror his words from the barn, and he barks out a wet sounding laugh before covering his face with his free hand. “And you’re happy with that truth?”

“I’m happy you decided you could trust me enough with it.” You admit softly, and he stares into your eyes, and you don’t feel the need to look away this time. “Anyone else would have gone running for the hills.” He whispers, and you can’t help but smile.

“Not many places to run to, and if I’m telling the honest truth, there are worse things than killing human filth.” You shrug, and he lets out a bewildered laugh. “You can’t mean-“

“I do though. There are people in this world that don’t deserve the freedom they have, that have ripped apart the lives of others and continue living like they didn’t single-handedly ruin someone’s entire foundation.” Your words are a little more forceful than you intended, raw. And Price catches it, sitting up a little straighter, tugging your hand closer.

“You have your own monster, don’t you pretty?” He asks seriously, and you swallow, lowering your gaze to your clasped hands.

“I think that’s a story for another night.” You whisper, and you see him nod, before realization hits, and his eyes widen.

“You’re going to let us-“

“You are going to have to show me that I am not making a mistake by letting four wanted men stay in my house.” You interrupt him, but there’s a smile on your face. The next seconds are a blur and you suddenly find this giant of a man at your feet, kneeling in front of you and holding both your hands in his. His shoulders are shaking, head bent but you hear the hitch in his breath.

“Price..” You murmur, a little nervous but you slip your hands free, slowly running your fingers through his hair, and you hear the sob that leaves him. He bunches up the loose fabric of your sweats in his fist, and you can feel his tears starting to soak through.

“You are a good person.” He chokes out, looking up at you and the look on his face has tears of your own threatening to spill. He looks exhausted, like every ounce of his energy has finally been drained, years of enduring visceral human indecency ingrained into every part of his being. And yet he is gazing at you like you are the first glimpse of the sun after week long rainstorms, constant flooding and devastation, the light breaking through the clouds to spread warmth on a new day.

“You’re still a good person too.”

Those words linger in the air.

You lose track of time as you sit there, running your fingers through his hair, this man who you’ve never met, who invited himself into your home, but has bared the darkest corners of his soul to you all in one night. Grimes had made his way over at some point, staring at Price with a concerned tilt of his head. He never did like when you cried, and you can tell he’s desperate to try and comfort this strange man in his home. He lays besides him, paws outstretched, inching forward ever so slowly.

“He doesn’t like that you’re upset.” You mumble, watching the way his eyes snap over to Grimes. “Even though I terribly upset his mama earlier?” He mutters, he and Grimes staring at one another.

“Grimes has always been a big softy. Dixon is the one who’s gonna hold a grudge.” An answering ‘boof’ comes from beside you, Dixon plopping his head back on his paws after making his stance known.

Grimes scoots forward until he can rest his big head on Price’s lap, nuzzling down and looking up at him expectantly, and Price gives you a hesitant look. You just nod, smiling gently. “You’re gonna be staying with four of them, better get yourselves acquainted.”

“What in the bloody fuck did I miss?” A drowsy voice mutters from the doorway, and Ghost stands there, taking in the sight of Price kneeling before you, still clutching your sweatpants, and you can see the downturn of his lips through his mask when he notices the dried tears on Price’s cheek.

You gently pull Price’s hands off your sweats, and he looks as though you just took away his favorite treat. “I’ll go grab some fresh blankets.” You hum, face warming when you can feel both of their gazes on your back as you walk up the stairs.

“Wait, does that mean-“ You hear Ghost start, and you’re shocked to hear it so soft, but their words are lost as you turn down the hallway. You slip into the bedroom at the end of the hall, making quick work of dusting off the dresser and small TV, gently stacking a pile of clean sheets and towels. This room already had two beds, you just hoped they were big enough for these giant oafs.

You just about scream when a pair of hands grip your waist, and you whirl around. “Price you have got to stop grabbing me now- Oh.”

It was Ghost, eyes unreadable as he stares you down, and you clear your throat, loosening your grasp just a bit but still attempting to push him off.

“You scared me, you need to stop-“

“Thank you.” He interrupts, and your eyes widen as he pulls you closer.

“I- Well you’re welcome, I couldn’t just-“

“Yes you could. You could send out right back outside, hell you could get a goddamn brigade of officers here and you would be justified for it.” He shrugs, but you frown, shaking your head.

“No. From… from what Price told me, you all made your own choices to help those the governments deem lesser than them. You helped people who have watched law officials let them down again and again.” You state firmly, wincing slightly as you feel Ghost dig his fingers into your hips. “Easy.” You scold, and he immediately eases up, but doesn’t let go of you, keeping you pressed to him and your heart skips.

“I’ll just finish-“

“Whoever divorces such a sweet little bird must have absolute shit for brains.” Ghost states, quite confidently, and you can’t stop the shocked giggle that slips past. “Absolute fuckin idiot.”

“You can’t win me over with flattery you know.” You huff, but he sees right through you, dark eyes taking in your flustered expression, and you feel heat burn your cheeks as you avoid meeting his eye.

“Mmm, we’ll see about that. Think it’ll get me pretty damn far.” He grins, and you smack his hands before pausing.

“Wait.” You mutter, prying his right hand off of you and lifting it up, inspecting.

Your teeth made a pretty gnarly imprint, already scabbing. “Ah don’t worry about that. I deserved it.”

“C’mon you big idiot, before you let that thing get infected.” You order, pushing him towards the bathroom and he lets out a loud laugh, the sound causing butterflies to seize your stomach.

“Yes ma’am.”

[brokenmenswhore]

release | jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

summary: jace is on the brink of snapping and lashing out toward his mother and her council for their lack of action against the greens, so you give him another outlet for his frustration

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), rough sex, jace is a lil rough & feral in this one

────── ☾ ──────

“And what of those who sent him?” Jacaerys snapped, questioning his mother as they buried yet another body.

He was angry. He couldn’t help but lose people. Everyone around him kept fleeing or dying, and he tried desperately to hold his tongue, but his patience was slipping. War was inevitable, and he was frustrated at his mother’s lack of action toward the opposing force. He wanted revenge, retaliation, and most of all, he wanted to be the one to give it.

As the eldest son, however, he tried not to cause a scene, knowing he played an important role in this war, and hoping that his silence and unwavering support of his mother’s decisions would breed the proper trust that was needed to allow him more involvement and access in the war.

He was evidently tense at council meetings. His tongue was becoming sharper with each sentence related to the war. He couldn’t help it. He pushed through the doors to your chambers, angry and frustrated from the events of the day.

He stopped short when he saw you turn in your chair to face him. Taking a deep breath, the tension in his body dropped. “I need a hug.”

You smiled, standing and approaching him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You remained a step lower than him in the entrance. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I just don’t understand why she won’t do anything,” he began, “I know she doesn’t want this war. I don’t want this war, but it’s happening. We have all lost so much, and it will not stop. Why won’t she do something?”

“Perhaps she believes it can still be avoided,” you responded.

“How much blood from my family must be split before she realizes it can’t?”

Your heart ached for him. You wanted to hold him in the hug forever, curing all his pain and never letting him out of the room.

“I’m sorry, Jacaerys.”

“It is not a fault of yours,” he replied, “it is just exhausting. I wish for a break from all of this, even if just momentary. I feel as if any moment, I may break, and I do not wish to take these frustrations out on my mother or her council. It would only cause the situation to worsen.”

You looked up at him, “then take it out on me.”

“What?”

“Take your frustrations out on me, Jace.”

“You do not deserve such treatment.”

You sighed, “but I am asking for it. Allow yourself to have an outlet. Why else am I here?”

Jacaerys was bewildered, “you are not here for me to take my anger out on. I would not do such a thing.”

“I wish for you to relax. I would not speak the offer if I did not mean it. Please, Jace.”

Jace leaned down to kiss you, initiating a sweet, intimate kiss before his frustrations took over and he deepened the kiss, gripping your thighs, causing you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist. He continued to kiss you as you clung to his shoulders, his steps towards the bed shaking you and causing you to nearly fall.

The Velaryon prince was usually quite nice to you, making sure to take things slow and constantly checking in on your comfort and pleasure. He would typically slowly drop your back onto the mattress, but tonight, he quite literally pushed you down, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed you into the mattress.

You moaned at the eagerness of it all, Jace’s hands running up and down your side, gripping your waist and pushing your hips down, until your legs were no longer wrapped around his body. Never breaking the kiss, he lifted up your nightdress, his fingers finding their way under your small clothes, not giving you time to ease into it as he began roughly rubbing circles on your clit.

You squealed into the kiss. Jace moved to begin sucking bruises into your neck, his hair falling in front of his face, as he continued to rub you. You couldn’t help but moan, trying your hardest to remain as quiet as possible, since his little brother’s chambers were just a wall away.

“He’s not here,” Jace groaned.

You could barely speak. “What?”

“He’s not in his chambers. He’s out with Arrax. Stop holding back,” Jace demanded, “wanna hear what I’m doing to you.”

This controlling nature was a change, but you didn’t mind it at all. You stopped trying to quiet yourself, a moan of his name leaving your lips as he pushed a finger into you.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “you sound so pretty.”

“T-thank you,” you responded.

Jacaerys didn’t stop curling his finger inside of you, but giggled, “did you just thank me?”

“Mhm,” you moaned.

“You’re too cute,” he said, breaking his frustrated and controlling demeanor for a second, the compliment making your heart swell as he continued to fuck you with his fingers.

He felt you start to squeeze, and he immediately pulled his hand away from you. You sighed in disappointment.

He lifted you from under your arms, shifting you so you were sitting up, as he began to undo his breeches.

“I just wish I could go to King’s Landing,” he started, pushing his small clothes down and allowing his cock to be free, “I’d kill every last one of them.”

He gripped your hair, pushing your face down until it was level with his cock. “Open.”

You did as he told you, opening your mouth as he pushed his cock into your mouth, immediately hitting the back of your throat. He was big, too big to fit completely in your mouth, but you were getting better and better at breathing through your nose to avoid gagging around his cock.

“Not today,” he sighed, “stop holding back or I’ll fuck it out of your throat.”

You listened to him, forgetting everything you know about avoiding gagging, and allowing him to direct your head up and down, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every single thrust. You gagged and choked around him, but he didn’t let up.

“They think they’re so big and bad,” he said, breathy from the pleasure of your mouth around him, “if only they were around me. I could take all of them. I could end their whole fucking line.”

He began to thrust his hips at a vicious pace. You had no choice but to take it, trying your best to continue sucking and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as he fucked your mouth mercilessly.

“I’d end their whole. fucking. line,” he said again, speaking through each thrust and throwing his head back in pleasure.

“Fuck, get up, I’m not done with you yet,” he commanded, pulling you off of him to stop himself from coming before he wanted to.

You didn’t dare adjust your position without his say so. You sat there waiting for him to put you where he wanted you. He flipped your body over, pressing your face into the pillow as he pulled your hips up to meet his. He took both of your wrists in one hand, locking them behind your back as his other hand guided his cock into your entrance and then moved to your waist as he started rocking into you, pushing you further and further into the mattress.

Your body folded and became weak, as much of you falling into the bed as was possible, the only thing keeping your hips upward was the rough grip Jacaerys had on them. You whined and moaned, your entire body rocking forward with each snap of his hips.

“Seven hells,” he breathed out, his pace never relenting, “are you still okay?”

“Mhm,” you moaned out, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Shit, I hate not being able to hear you,” he said, pulling out of you and flipping your body so you were flat on the mattress, facing him. “That’s better,” he smiled, immediately fucking back into you with no warning.

You cried out, grabbing his face and kissing him through the intensity. He grunted into the kiss, having never fucked you, or anyone for that matter, this hard before. All of his pent up rage and frustration was being taken out on your cunt.

Your back arched off the mattress, Jace taking the opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, holding you even closer to him.

He spoke with every thrust, “I. Want. Revenge.”

“I k-know,” you moaned out.

“I. Want. Fucking. Revenge.”

It was overwhelming, and the intensity with which he was fucking you started to make your head cloudy. “J- Jace, it’s too m-“

Jacaerys cut you off by kissing you, doing everything he can to stop your words. “You can take it, baby.”

“I c-“ the pressure was so intense. You could feel your walls start to squeeze around his cock, and his pace was relentless.

“You can,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “and you will.”

You nodded and let him continue splitting you open on his cock, dropping your waist down to the mattress again as he fucked into you, hands rough on your waist as they pushed you down.

Your eyes filled with tears. Jacaerys had never seen you like this, crying from the intensity, sweat sticking your hair to your forehead as you writhed under him. He didn’t know he was capable of making you feel like this, and he didn’t know you would look so fucking pretty as a result.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, “I’m close.”

You couldn’t even respond, you just continued to whine and moan under him, watching his face contort as he released inside of you. The final few thrusts of his hips were cruel, his large length hitting that spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars. Through his high, he could feel you close, and he forced himself to continue pushing in and out of you until you met your climax.

Your legs shook as a wave of pleasure washed over you, your entire body eventually melting into the bed with weakness. Jace waited a moment before pulling out of you, kissing you as he did so.

You tried hard to catch your breath, but it took you longer than you anticipated. Jace, ever so attentive, looked down at you and asked, “you okay?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I should start making you mad.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

demonstration

words: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, reader is toppers girlfriend, struggling to cum, female receiving oral and fingering, multiple orgasms, edging and overstimulation, protected and unprotected sex, cheating

“maybe you could ask one of your friends for help, top.” you pout, rubbing your hand over his shoulder, not wanting him feel any more upset than he needs to be, but at the same time, you’re not sure how much longer this can go on.

“you can't tell me what i can do to fix it?” topper asks.

“you know i was a virgin before you babe, i really don’t know.” you sigh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “maybe ask rafe?” “rafe?” topper turns suddenly to look at you. “why him?” “i’ve just… heard talk from some of my friends. he can probably give you some good advice. i don’t know.” you shrug. “maybe it’s something wrong with me.” “no, don’t say that.” topper shakes his head, turning to pull you into him, a hand around your waist.

“you ask your friends and i’ll ask mine.” you give as an option. topper nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead, hoping the next time you’re in his bedroom, it’ll go a lot better.

--

“what?” rafe gawks at his friend, unsure if he heard him right or if he was going crazy.

“ive never… i’ve never made y/n cum before and i just… i need to know what to do rafe! i’m worried she’s gonna leave me if i can’t get it together and i guess- fuck! i don’t know! just help me out man!” topper paces quickly, bringing his hands to his hair, tugging on it, stressed out of his mind.

“okay, alright, jesus, just clam down!” rafe says, sitting down on the couch, gesturing for topper to sit as well. he’s not sure how long he can keep himself still, already feeling awkward and nervous about not being able to make you cum, only made worse by trying to talk to rafe about it.

“every time i fuck her, i just get so over excited and cum too quickly and i know this is tmi but i just try my best and every time she doesn’t cum and she says its okay but i know it’s really not.” topper blurts out.

“alright, well…” rafe sighs, pushing his hand through his hair. he’s never had this type of issue before with girls. “do you finger her? or eat her out? before you fuck her, i mean.” “i eat her out sometimes.” topper shrugs. “she says my tongue feels good and i can make her cum like that, but not when im fucking her, i just don’t know what to do, i just get so excited and… and i’ve never had this problem with girls before, it’s just y/n.”

“to be fair, she’s hotter than any girl you’ve been with before.” rafe comments. it’s no secret, so he doesn’t feel bad saying it, especially when topper nods.

“she’s way out of my league, thats why i’m sure if i don’t fix this she’s gonna leave me.” topper sighs.

“maybe a demonstration could help?” rafe suggests, making toppers head snap towards him, a look of fury in his eyes.

“you are not allowed to fuck my girlfriend.”

“no, man.” rafe shakes his head. “what if i’m there while you fuck her? then i can give you specifics, and she will know you are really trying. she told you to ask me right?” “yeah, i guess you have a reputation of being really good.” topper cringes at his own words.

“i am. so, let me help you, top. brother to brother.”

--

rafe understands why topper has such a hard time keeping it together as you lay out naked on the bed, eyes flickering between your boyfriend and his best friend, a cautiously optimistic look on your face.

“go ahead and spread your legs.” rafe says, trying to keep his tone even, to disguise the lust that he feels as his eyes move from your breasts down to between your thighs.

“can you get naked first topper? i feel weird here.” topper was shirtless, but still had his shorts and underwear on, even though he was obviously straining against the fabric. 

“yeah.” topper glances briefly to rafe before tugging them down his hips, letting his cock spring free. 

“so have you ever cum before y/n?” rafe asks.

“yeah, um… with my own fingers.” you cough awkwardly. “and when topper eats me out.”

“its really just when i’m inside of her.” topper says with a thick swallow as your thighs part, opening them wide to show off your pussy, already gleaming with wetness and a peachy pink color that makes rafe want to bend down and bury his tongue inside of your folds, but he has to behave himself, just happy to have this opportunity to see you like this.

“why don’t you finger her first? then you can show me. open her up a little, it’ll help.” rafe instructs.

topper nods, reaching down and pressing one finger against your hole. you tense up briefly before relaxing, allowing topper to push his finger in.

“is she tight?” rafe asks, without really meaning to, but he figures you must be from the way you are squeezed so tightly around his finger.

“yeah, that’s why i can never last.” topper says, thrusting his finger in and out, the slick sounds of his movement squelching throughout the room.

“does that feel good y/n?” rafe asks, eyes flickering up to your face.

“mhm.” you nod, but you don’t feel any urge to moan, needing more. “could add a second, top.” “okay.” topper nods, trying to work a second finger in, but you hiss at the stretch, primarily hurting around your entrance, despite your wetness.

“gotta rub her clit too.” rafe says, reaching over and pressing a fingertip to your clit, rubbing it. you gasp out, not just from the good feeling but from rafe touching you, like he swore to topper he wouldn’t do before he agreed to this.

toppers finger slips easily in once you’ve relaxed to having your clit rubbed. topper looks slightly annoyed, but he stays silent when he sees how much you’re liking it now, unable to hold back your moans. “oh, just like that.” you moan, eyes fluttering closed.

“see if you can add a third.” rafe says, flicking his finger over your clit before going back to rubbing.

“i’ve-i’ve never been able to take more than two.” you sit up slightly, surprised when topper presses a third finger and manages to begin thrusting it inside of you.

“aw, fuck.” you whine, trying to close your legs, but topper holds one thigh open with his hand while rafe grasps the other.

“keep ‘em open, cutie.” rafe says. “gonna cum?”

“yeah, yeah keep going-” you cut yourself off before you can yell rafes name instead of toppers.

“pull out, top.” rafe says, suddenly taking his hand away, making your back arch off the bed as you squirm, trying to chase their fingers, to get them back touching you.

“no, no, no.” you whine when topper also pulls out, leaving your hole clenching around nothing.

“sometimes if you’re struggling having her cum with your cock inside her, you can edge her first.” rafe says, switching easily back to teacher mode.

“should i fuck her now?” topper looks to rafe, before glancing to you, realizing he shouldn’t be asking permission to fuck his own girlfriend, but rafe has that type of energy, that commanding presence that easily makes him in control of any situation.

“yeah, put the condom on though.” rafe glances to the bed where topper threw a condom out of his pocket earlier. while topper slides it on, your focus on him, rafe takes a moment to reach to his crotch, squeezing his cock and begging himself to settle, to calm down.

topper lines himself up with your entrance, placing one hand on your hip as he lines himself up with his other hand, pushing inside of you slowly as you moan, eyes squeezing shut, obviously aroused and feeling good by him stretching you, so rafe is unsure what the issue is, until topper begins to move.

he’s thrusting too rapidly, overwhelming you. rafe shakes his head, “slowly, topper. deeper thrusts.”

topper manages to get control of himself, slowing down but still not thrusting deeper, and rafe realizes its because of the angle, topper not holding himself low enough to properly thrust.

“here.” rafe grabs a pillow, a different one from the one you’re laying your head on. rafe taps your hip and you lift them as he stuffs the pillow underneath. “try now.”

topper scooches closer, now able to thrust much easier, entering you at a far better angle as he takes you repeatedly, still going too erratically, too random.

“on a beat.” rafe says. “gotta fuck her steady, can’t just jackhammer.” “i-i-” topper groans out, pulling out, much to your disappointment as you let out a deep sigh. “i can’t, was about to cum.” “damn, baby, you must be real tight.” rafe glances to you, making you blush and close your legs slightly, which is hard as you are propped up, spread open on display.

“try again, top, it’s okay.” you soothe him, keeping your voice soft and steady.

topper nods, retaking his cock in his hand, pushing it back inside. you nod in encouragement as he moves, already going to shallow and too fast to properly build you up.

“gotta rub her clit too, man. remember she’s already close from getting edged.” rafe tries to instruct, but when topper places his thumb on your clit, his movements are jerky and too harsh, almost hurting as you cringe, but in your displeasure, your cunt clenches around toppers cock and he looses control, moaning as he cums, pumping into the condom.

“shit!” topper shouts out in pleasure, before he realizes you’re looking up at him with disappointment in your eyes. “shit.” he groans again, this time angry with himself as he pulls out in shame.

“it’s okay, top.” you sit up, moving the pillow as you reach out for your boyfriend, or at least attempt to, but he moves away, looking down in shame.

“you’re gonna break up with me now.” toppers voice is sad as he speaks.

“what?” it takes you back, not expecting it.

“you’re gonna break up with me, aren’t you? because i can’t make you cum, you’re gonna leave me? god, i’m so pathetic.” “i can’t believe you think i’m that shallow.” you scoff as topper pulls the condom off and tosses it into rafes trashcan, who is simply glancing back and forth between the two of you. “that i would break up with you over sex?” “you wouldn’t?” topper questions.

“you would?” you question back, growing frustrated. “topper, i let you take my virginity, i can’t believe you thought i would do that just… just go.”

“no, baby, listen.” topper begins.

“i’m not breaking up with you yet.” you tell him. “but i need some space, please just go.” 

topper can’t hide the tears welling up in his eyes, and he doesn’t want to cry in front of you, and especially not rafe, so he pulls his clothes back on quickly and haphazardly before leaving, slamming the door shut behind him.

you sigh, burying your head in your hands. you wouldn’t break up with topper just because of sex, but his reaction to what happened makes you question everything.

“you okay baby?” rafe asks, making you jump, forgetting he was there.

“yeah, sorry, i can leave.” you move to get off the bed when rafe grabs your wrists, making you stop.

“or you could stay.” rafe says, his voice suggestive, as well as the look on his face.

“i-but topper…” “just finishing off what he started. come on, you came here for help anyways. lets see if you can cum when i fuck you.” “i-i guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.” --

rafe finally picks his head up from between your legs, cunt now bright red and covered in mess due to your three orgasms his tongue and fingers brought out of you, deciding to go for overstimulation instead of edging, now that he was the one getting to have you.

“still thinking about topper?” rafe asks, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit, making you whine out.

“no.” you admit honestly, all of your thoughts have been replaced by rafe. “fuck me, please, rafe.”

rafe smirks, standing up and taking his shirt off, pleased that your eyes glaze over as you watch him undress, jaw dropping open when his cock is revealed, already hard and leaking.

“yeah, i know i’m bigger than him.” rafe smirks as he climbs onto the bed. “but i opened you up enough, didn’t i? or do i need to make you cum again?”

“n-no.” you shake your head, already so overstimulated. “i want your cock, i need it.” “he always fucks you in missionary?” rafe asks, wanting to make you cum in the same position that topper couldn’t, proving yet another way he’s superior.

“yeah, we haven’t tried anything else.” you say, leaving out the word yet not sure if you can go back to topper after this.

rafe nods, looking towards his drawer that he knows contains condoms, going to grab one before you speak up suddenly, “you-you can fuck me raw. if you want. i’m on birth control.” rafe can’t help but smirk, nodding as he grabs the same pillow again, placing it under your hips, bringing your tired legs up, thighs falling open.

“tell me if it hurts or if anything doesn’t feel good.” rafe says. he’s sure it’s toppers' inadequacies making you struggle, but just in case he wants to take good care of you.

“mkay.” you nod, hands fisting in the bed sheets as rafe rubs the head of his cock through your sticky folds, making sure to tap against your clit, just to tease you even further.

“gonna fuck you so much better than he ever could. ‘ts why you should be with me instead, baby.” rafe says, not letting you respond or even think too much about his statement as his cock pushes inside of you, making your back arch off the bed.

“oh my god!” you shout out, moaning wildly without care as rafe begins to thrust, deep and hard, hitting spots inside of you that topper has never touched before.

“oh, fuck.” rafe groans out. “you are tight, baby.” your cunt is squeezing him, molding to his walls. “no wonder he cums so quickly.” you shake your head, not wanting to think about topper, not wanting to feel any guilt or regret as rafes hips swing forward, cock pressing against your gummy walls as he moves a thumb to your clit, rubbing it in that same enticing way that made your high build so quickly last time.

“feels really good, rafey.” you moan, raising and lower your hips slightly in time with his thrusts, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, feeling his hot skin against yours, the first person to take you bare.

“i knew there was nothing wrong with you.” rafe smirks. “already close to cumming, aren’t you?”

despite your body being tired from your three previous orgasms, you do feel another one building in your stomach.

“yeah, thats what i thought.” rafe moves faster, rubbing his thumb more intensely. “nothing wrong with you baby, you are perfect. perfect tight little cunt.” “please.” you whine out, unsure what you are begging for as tears slide down your cheeks, purely from being overwhelmed with pleasure. you’ve never managed more than two orgasms in a night, and he’s close to doubling that.

“cum for me, doll. don’t have to beg. wanna feel that cunt squeezing around me.” rafe encourages you, pumping quickly as he pinches your clit between his thumb and finger before letting go and rubbing quickly, forcing the orgasm out of you as you scream, entire body tightening as your hips rise, high overtaking you as your eyes open to see rafe looking back at you, cocky look in his eye, but his jaw is slackened in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his dick.

“that’s it, good girl.” rafe affirms, thumb now gently touching around your clit, bringing you down slowly as his cock stays lodged deep inside of you.

you shiver as you lower your hips, breath slowly coming back to normal. 

rafe bends over your body, taking your lips in a kiss. you moan into his mouth, his tongue licking against your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth.

“you just came on my cock, pretty girl.” rafe says.

“i know, i loved it.” you hum, eyes sliding shut as rafe kisses your jaw, obsessed with the taste of your skin almost as much as your cunt.

“hmm, so two more? three?” rafe suddenly snaps his hips forward, making you realize he’s still buried inside of you.

“wait, wha-” your question is cut off as rafe straightens, resuming his same pace as if he didn’t just deliver you the most mind blowing orgasm.

“you think i’d be satisfied with getting you to cum just once?” rafe tsks and shakes his head. “we aren’t even close to done.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld

[fastandcarlos]

Streamer Baby : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: when max leaves you and your daughter to stream for the night, only one of you is happy to let max go and play for a while

Max’s eyes lit up as soon as he walked into your apartment, heavy footsteps thudding through. He dropped to his knees as your daughter ran through to meet him, leaping up straight into his arms. His grip was tight as her arms wrapped around his neck, kicking her legs excitably at the sight of her dad returning home. After a couple of moments you followed through, joining the duo as Max pressed a kiss against the top of your head. Max’s free arm wrapped around you, inviting you into their hug as the three of you walked back into the apartment, all entangled in with one another.  

“I can’t stay for long,” Max told you, placing your daughter back down. “Don’t forget I’ve got that charity stream tonight.” 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget,” you smiled, heading back into the kitchen to carry on preparing dinner for the three of you. 

“Where are you going daddy?” Your daughter asked, her hand still resting on Max’s leg to make sure that he couldn’t run away from her. 

“I’ve just got a bit of work to do sweetheart,” he smiled, brushing his hand over the top of her head. “I promise that I won’t be too long.” 

“You’re stuck with mummy for a little while longer,” you joked, trying your best to keep her smiling. 

“I’d rather be stuck with mummy then do what I have to do tonight,” Max grinned, bending down and lifting your daughter up, a loud squeal escaping from her. 

“You can try and make me feel better, but I know she’s a daddy’s girl,” you assured Max, appreciating the efforts that he went to. He couldn’t help it, he felt guilty sometimes that your daughter clung to him more than you, but you didn’t mind, being a spectator of their relationship was pretty special too. 

“I’ll make sure that I’m done so I can come and say goodnight,” Max informed you both, placing your daughter down in one of the dining chairs just to the side of where you were. He walked around and grabbed himself a drink and a snack from the fridge before heading for the door. “If you need anything, you know where I am,” he smiled, pressing a kiss against the top of your daughter’s head, moving around to kiss the side of yours too before leaving the two of you to it. 

A sigh came from Max as he closed the door behind himself, hearing the groans of your daughter cry out straight away. He felt helpless as you called out her name in the hope that she would stop complaining, but it wasn’t to be. Whilst George headed upstairs, you found a couple of her toys lying around the kitchen floor, picking them up and placing them in front of her, only for her to chuck them to one side. 

“I want to play with daddy,” she cried out, folding her arms in front of her chest, a habit of Max’s she’d definitely picked up. 

“I want to spend time with daddy too, but he’s busy,” you weakly smiled, picking the toys back up off the floor. 

“Why’s he busy?” 

“Because he’s working,” you explained, opening up the kitchen door again to place the toys back in their box. “Why don’t you go and watch the television sweetheart then mummy can get on with sorting dinner?” 

“Can I watch Bluey?” She excitedly asked, offering the first hint of a smile she’d shown since Max left the room. 

“You can watch whatever you want,” you replied, keen to keep that smile on her face for as long as you possibly could. “I’m sure once daddy is done with work he’d love to come and watch Bluey with you too.” 

“Daddy’s coming now?” She quizzed, not quite understanding what you meant. 

“Soon,” you spoke, only for her smile to fade again. You quickly turned the television on, hurrying to find any episode that you could to put on and distract your daughter. Once you had one, you left her to it, heading back into the kitchen so that you could finish preparing dinner for the three of you without any distractions around. 

Above where you were, Max was all set up with his headphones on, talking to some of his fellow drivers who were taking part in the charity stream. He was lost in his own little bubble until a stream of light came through the door leaving him unable to see what was happening on the screen, the light hitting the exact spot where his character was. 

His eyes glanced to the door to see what was going on, only for a little figure to peer around the door frame, a cheeky smile etched on her face. “Love, what are you doing?” Max chuckled as he met your daughter’s eyes. 

“I missed you,” she grinned, inviting herself into the room, her chaotic feet charging through the room to where he was. 

“I’ve only been gone ten minutes,” Max laughed, bending down to pick her up anyway, sitting her down in his lap. Her arms immediately went around his chest, sticking to him tightly just in case anyone tried to take her away. He didn’t have the heart to tell her to move as she wriggled around to make herself comfortable, her hair flicking in front of the screen over and over again. The boys were baffled on the end of the line as Max’s character was killed, he’d gone from top of the leaderboard to bottom of the pack in no time at all, all thanks to the troublemaker cuddled up to him. 

Usually Max hated coming last, especially when it came to impressing on stream, but for once Max could make an allowance. His weakness was absolutely your daughter, every single person that knew Max could tell you that too, which was why it didn’t take long for the other boys to figure out why Max had suddenly plummeted to the bottom of the rankings. 

“Have you got a little guest?” Charles laughed through his headset as Max’s character was shot again. 

“I might have a team mate,” Max sniggered in response, “not that she’s exactly doing a good job of helping me right now.” 

“Don’t use your child to cover the fact you’re rubbish at this game,” Lando teased, celebrating being the one to defeat Max. 

“I’m being honest,” Max chuckled, glancing down at your daughter again. “You just wait until you have kids one day, you won’t be able to get anything done anymore without a little figure following you around constantly.” 

“Why don’t you just tell her to go away?” Lando jokingly quizzed, hearing several groans from many of the drivers through his headphones. 

“Shut up Lando,” Max grinned, “do you hear how stupid you sound sometimes?” 

As the game restarted, Max tried his best to focus again without your daughter getting in the way. That was soon interrupted again though when you peered through the door, smiling softly when you saw your daughter cuddled up to Max, relieved to see that she was safe in the hold of her father. 

“She just couldn’t stay away,” Max laughed, knowing exactly what you were looking at. 

“I had no idea where she’d gone,” you grinned with a shake of your head. “One minute she was there, the next she was gone.” 

“I knew she wasn’t going to leave me alone for long,” Max smiled, taking his headphones off for a moment. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her to go back downstairs again.” 

“It’s alright, she’s not getting in the way though, is she?” You asked him. 

“I’ve lost every round.” 

Oh,” you smirked, unable to hold back your laughter. “It’s for charity so I don’t think you’re allowed to get mad about that.” 

“I also don’t think I have the heart to get mad at this one either,” he chuckled, nodding down at your daughter. 

“No way, she’s a daddy’s girl after all.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[monstersflashlight]

To kill a king, to fuck a dragon (Day 8/8 of 10k followers event)

A/N: Hi there people! I’m so, so glad that all of you took time to read all the stories I post, especially these past 8 stories that had been super exploratory for me. I think I did good enough, at least y’all seemed to like it. For this last one I added a bit more plot than usual, this is a tiny bit longer and I think the story is really good. I hope y’all love it as much as I do. Also, and once again, I want to thank ALL OF YOU for following this little corner of the internet and being so supportive and great, special thanks to all my patrons to make my life a little bit easier <3, this has been a blast so far and I hop y’all keep reading, hopefully this account is just the beginning of a much longer exploration of monsterfuckery for us all. (PS: If someone catches the very subtle Grey’s anatomy reference please let me know so we can be friends)

Dragon x fem!reader || size kink, slow-burn (kinda), sex with feelings, magic saliva, spit on pussy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation || tw: mentions of murder

You enter the cave and are surprised to find a door, a normal human door caved into the rock. It looks like a house, a house on the rock, but still normal. What the fuck? Your hopes and dreams of finding the dragon slowly disappear, your eyes teary.

Someone chooses that moment to speak behind you: “Who are you?” You turn around so fast you fall to the ground with a scream. The stranger looks at you like you are a bug he needs to squeeze, and you feel a tear running down your cheek. Fuck. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry even if there wasn’t a dragon. “Again: who are you?” His tone is harsh and you want to cry even more, but you bit your tongue.

“I- I came to find the dragon,” you confess, swallowing around the knot in your throat.

He looks at you like you are a joke, not even trying to help you to your feet. “What dragon?” He asks, his tone amused.

You get up and look at him, trying to look as serious as you can when you say: “They- They told me there was a dragon here.” You fail.

He chuckles, inspecting you up and down, his eyes zeroing on the few tears that escaped your eyes. “No dragons, just me,” he finally answers, his tone a lot softer than before.

“Uh-oh… Sorry. I’ll be on my way, then.” You try to get pass him, sniffling as you do so, trying really hard to get out before you start sobbing.

He sighs, and adds: “do you want some tea?” He offers you his hand, and weirdly enough, you don’t feel threatened or scared, you feel calm around him.

“Really?” You don’t want to sound too hopeful but you are thirsty and tired and you want to cry because there is no dragon and you basically lost hope of everything.

“Yeah, come on.” He motions you to follow him inside the rock house, and you are surprised about how cozy and homey it feels inside, like out of a fairy-tale kind of thing.

He makes some tea as you lean against the door frame of the kitchen, trying to look around as much as possible without looking too snoopy about it. Not that he seems to care that you are curious about everything, he just looks at you every once in a while like making sure you are still there.

“Why were you looking for a dragon?” He asks when he sets the tea cup on the table in front of you. A similar one in front of him. You sit and start sipping on the best tea you’ve ever had.

You sip the tea for a couple seconds, trying to decide if you can trust him, at the end you decide why not, your life is already ruined. “To kill the king,” you say. He chokes on the tea he’s drinking, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop from giggling.

“What?” He asks again when he recovers, his face red from the coughing.

“To kill the king,” you repeat. He still looks stunned so you give him more context: “I- I was bought when I was in the womb. My parents promised me to him in exchange for gold, and the day we marry is approaching. I don’t want to do it, he’s a foul man, and I didn’t choose this. I overheard some servants talking about the dragon in the mountains, and I though… I thought they would help me.” You try not to sound too bitter about it, but you can’t keep the despair out of your voice.

He looks at you like you are suddenly the most interesting specimen of a bug. “You escaped the castle and came here?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully. There was a lot more implied in that simple question. You escaped, but not only that, they are probably looking for you and the king would probably kill those guards you ran away from. You try not to be too sad about them, they were cruel with you, laughing at you every time you passed, talking about how the king got a new hot wife.

“Are they still looking for you?” He asks, a lot smarter than you give him credit for.

“Probably.” It’s the truth but it still carries a lot of pressure as you say it. You understand though, you know it’s not his problem and you shouldn’t even be there. You’d find another way to escape the king. “I’ll be out of your hair, I promise. You didn’t sing up for any of this.” You realize the sun is setting in the horizon and you don’t know if you could find your way back to the village. Fuck. “I need to go. The village is a long journey from here,” you try not to sound scared, but an edge of fear permeates your voice.

He surprises you by saying: “Stay. I have a guest bedroom and there’s no way you could get back to the village if it’s this dark.”

You want to say no, to refuse, that’s improper, but the idea of going back to that golden prison is enough to make you say: “I’ll leave first thing in the morning.” It’s a promise you do to him, but also to yourself. That man showed you more caress that anyone in your life, and you didn’t want to cause him unnecessary trouble. You’ll leave in the morning.

Problem is… You never do.

The next day he prepares breakfast, and insists on showing you around his house. It’s so beautiful you are mesmerized. His garden especially. It’s so colorful and big and calm…. You feel an instant connection to the earth, and to him. He’s so easy to be around, he treats you so differently like what you are used to. And you like it. You like it so much that you get distracted until the sun is setting once again. And he never tells you to leave.

And days pass. One day turns into another, and you… never leave. You know someday they will come back for you. You know you can’t run away from your problems. But right there, in the side of the mountain with that nice man that took you in… It feels possible to run away. It feels possible to avoid the awful destiny that was set for you before you were even born.

He teaches you to cook, to take care of plants, to polish wood… He’s like a handyman that can do all, and you are his new apprentice, even though he insists on doing all the heavy lifting. But on top of that, he just… amazing. He takes care of you, but also you two argue about stupid stuff until you are red faced and you want to hit him, just to end up laughing when he tells you a stupid joke. You have the most fun you had in ages with him.

Until one day all shifts (pun intended).

You are laying around under the tree as he does some gardening. He wouldn’t let you near the roses in case you got hurt. “I have something to tell you,” he breaks the silence.

“What?” You ask, looking directly at him, a spark of something unknown raising inside of you, like bugs in your stomach, crawling around every time you set your eyes on him, on his beautiful smile.

He looks at you intently and says the most ominous thing: “I- I think it’s better if I show you, actually.”

“Show me what? Why do you sound so serious?” You try to joke, but it doesn’t land because he still looks at you with a poker face.

He looks worried, apprehension settling on his features. “Just… Wait until I’m done to say anything, please?” His tone is more than pleading, is more like he’s begging you to understand, and you don’t know what could possibly be so bad.

“Okay…” You tell him, anxiety spiking.

And then he turns. Literally. His body contorts and cracks, and there’s a bunch of things happening at once, and before you realize, there’s a dragon in front of you. A full on real dragon. What? He’s majestic, as big as a house and skin covered in the most precious scales. He looks like a work of art… you are mesmerized.

“You said there was no dragon!” It’s the first thing out of your mouth, an edge of hysterics creeping in your tone.

You laugh then. You laugh so hard and so much you have tears rolling down your eyes. He changes back, and tries really hard to cover his manhood with his hands, failing and making you laugh even harder.

“You are a dragon,” you say when your laughter dies down.

“I am,” he says simply, approaching you slowly until he’s right in front of you. “And I will kill the king for you,” he adds.

There’s no point in asking why he didn’t tell you sooner, you understand why. Why would he? Why would he trust his deepest secret to you? But him showing you now? It meant more than the world, it made you forget about everything and anything chasing you down. It makes you happy. He makes you happy.

“No. I don’t care about the king. I just… I love you. I think what I feel is love, I never felt like this before.” You tell him, heat creeping up your cheeks. He looks at you like he’s surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that at all. “Do you feel it, too?” You ask shyly, your hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat faster and faster.

“Ye- yes. I love you, too.” His confession is followed by his hands cupping your face, so soft and tender, you feel a tear running down your cheek as he kisses you for the first time.

You should have known better than to think your life could be so perfect.

You don’t hear them before you are captured. At least four soldiers appear at the edge of the garden and catch you before you can scream. You think about him, about your dragon, and lament how confused he will be when he returns and you aren’t there. You worry he would think you abandoned him… But you can’t do anything as they take you away from the only place you felt like home.

They don’t even wait a whole day before they are dressing you and pampering you in the best silks and makeups. Nobody says anything as you silently cry during all the process. The servants looking worried but not arguing with anyone, three guards at the door of every chamber you enter.

You are caged once again.

You walk to the aisle in between a crowded place full of people who don’t like you, nor the king for the matter. They just want to appraise his old self to gain some benefits, the same as your parents did even before you were born. He looks like a nightmare standing in front of the altar, and you want to run, to run far away, back into your dragon’s arms. But you can’t, guards all around the open garden the ceremony is taking place in. You stand before your soon to be husband and have to swallow back the tears and bile, his rancid smell hitting you like a brick.

The minister starts speaking about love and marriage, and you cry during all his speech. You dream of being far away from there, as far away as possible. Or at least as close to your dragon as you could.

When you hear the people mumbling around you, you turn around, a shadow obscuring the sun. You look at the sky and sigh, so happy to see him you could cry. Maybe you would cry if you weren’t so shocked that he actually showed up.

He roars as he lands, people running in all directions, hiding in every possible place. “YOU STOLE FROM ME!” He growls, breathing fire to the sky and making people cry out in fear. You look at him in all his glory, fascinated by every inch of his skin.

“We- we saved the queen to be,” the guard’s words are short lived as your dragon looks at him and breathes fire right over his body, instantly burning him to the ground. There’s a chorus of screams and cries again, and you have to bite your tongue to stop from smiling.

“She’s not yours! SHE’S MINE!” You shiver at his words, feeling them so deep inside you think you might combust, butterflies dancing inside your stomach once again.

“You can’t take her! I bought her,” the king’s words don’t help his case at all, your dragon roaring and launching for him.

It all happens so fast, one second he’s there, and the next one the king’s head is rolling onto the ground as everyone screams and runs away. You are shocked to the core, but he doesn’t let you wallow in that. He picks you up and takes flight. You realize he’s being very careful not to pickle you with his claws. You don’t know where he’s taking you, but soon enough you are in a place you know, a place that brings you memories of joy and love… The garden.

As soon as he sets you down, he orders you to: “Go inside.” His tone is harsh, almost a growl.

“No,” you answer, not recoiling, not moving. You approach him more, your hand softly caressing the scales of his chest.

He roars over your head, trying to scare you away: “Go inside, I’m not in my right mind right now, I can’t answer for my actions.” You aren’t scared of him, though. He saved you from your most fearsome nightmare, he’s just the big monster you are in love with.

“No,” you repeat, a big smile playing on your lips when you look up at him.

“Come on, princess… Please.” Him begging in that form does something to you, such a big and scary creature asking you to go inside so he can protect you from himself… You are more sure than anything that you are safe. Safer than you’d be with anyone else. Human or monster.

“No. I want you. I love you.” Your words finally go through him, making his big body shiver, you feel it under your hands, a big shake that leaves you breathless. “Take me, my dragon.” You know adding that isn’t necessary, but you are more than ready to be a bride, to be his bride.

“Don’t joke around,” he growls, grabbing your body with his big clawed hand and positioning you to look straight into his yes, his big dragon head so beautiful you have to reach out and touch him. He scrunches his nose, making you giggle.

“Make me fully yours,” you say again.

His responding growl is so loud it makes the earth vibrate under your feet. You shiver in anticipation. He tears your wedding dress of your body, wrapping his wings around you to create a bubble, so you won’t feel a single spark of cold in your human skin.

Your wedding dress is torn off your body as he launches for your body, your naked form shivering at the cold temperature around you, but he solves that easily. He wraps his wings around your body getting you close to his much warmer scaled body. You sigh happily.

He lets you down onto the ground and you look up at him, completely vulnerable. “Fuck me. Claim me. Love me.” You lower yourself to the ground, your upper body to the ground, your ass up. You know what you must look like: an offering, a sacrifice. And you are okay with that. You are okay being his.

“You sure?” He asks again, always the gentleman, always worried about you. You are more sure of this that you were about anything else ever.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you chant as his claw proves your entrance. You look around in time to see him biting on his fingers, two seconds later he’s claw-less and his now not-dangerous fingers enter you. You cry out and bury your face on the mossy ground, his chuckle making you flush all over.

He plays with your pussy for what feels like an eternity, making you come twice before he starts stretching you fully. He gets to three fingers, way bigger than anything you tried before, and you can’t stop moaning.

You come again as he spits on your pussy, the sensation so filthy and so good you scream and fall over the edge again. You feel tingly all over after that, your pussy relenting under his ministrations and somehow widening further, accommodating one more of his fingers. “My saliva has magic in it,” he explains, his tone amused as he keeps finger fucking you. You don’t know if you can come again, you didn’t even know that much pleasure was possible.

“Come on, come on, please,” doesn’t matter how much you beg, he doesn’t relent.

He starts scissoring his big fingers inside of you, stretching you impossibly wide, and you squirm under him, a pleasure so big you don’t know how to deal with it, your body pliant under his actions, your brain completely void of thoughts. And then he stops and you curse him so loud he starts to laugh, moving your body and making you squirm under him. He grabs your hips to stop you from moving and you feel the tip of his cock against your entrance.

He enters you slowly, so slowly. You want to scream, but your brain is frozen with the over-sensitivity of his dick inside of you. He can’t fit inside, there’s no way, he’s probably just aiming for a third of his length, but right now, with just the tip inside, you feel like you are about to burst. You reach down and rub your clit, unlocking something inside of you and crying out so loudly he roars as your orgasm makes your pussy constrict around him. He pushes in a bit more, and you keep coming.

From that point on, it’s all a blur of sensations and emotions, so much pleasure you are blind to the world around you. His dick is barely inside, but it seems to be enough for him, and more than enough for you. You feel like he’s going to split you in two in the most amazing way. He feels so big inside of you that you think you might die if he keeps rubbing against all your special spots at once. And if you do… You’d die happy.

“Take me. Take all of me,” that’s all the heads up you get before he’s filling you, one last thrust inside before his hot seed floods your insides. It propels you over the edge one last time, the world fading into blackness.

You pass out.

When you come back to your senses, you are laying on a bed and there’s a warm body behind you. You sigh happily as he kisses your forehead and makes sure you are comfortable and warm. You feel such intense love for him in that moment, that you have to turn around and try how well it would feel to fit his human dick inside of you (this time all of him).

He feels perfect.

[giannaln4]

Sleep

lando norris x fem reader

summary: You always had a hard time falling asleep, but it seems like all you need is Lando to give you a little help. (1k words)

warnings: language, fluff

a/n: this is just a little something i wrote when, of course, i couldn't fall asleep. i hope you like it! also, i don't know why these are so short; i'm really trying to write longer fics. anyway, please send some requests!

↺ back to navigation— send me a request!

You were not sure how long it had been, but it felt like you had been tossing and turning for hours. You opened your eyes for a moment to make sure it was still dark outside, letting out a sigh of relief when you confirmed it was.

You forced your eyes closed again, getting closer to your boyfriend, hoping his warmth would relax you enough to make you fall asleep. But, of course, that wasn’t the case.

It was like this sometimes—actually more often than not. You never had the best relationship with sleep, your mind forcing you to stay wide awake until the sun was peeking through your window.

You opened your eyes again, finding the clock that rested on your nightstand. 2:40 AM. “Fuck,” you thought to yourself. Slowly, you started to kick the covers and get off the bed. You tried to be as quiet as possible, knowing you couldn’t wake up your boyfriend. You knew how exhausting it was to travel as much as he did, as well as how much his job wore him down; he needed to sleep.

You looked back at your bed before carefully opening the door, admiring how peaceful and pretty Lando looked as he slept, his breathing slow and calm. Then, you finally exited the room and closed the door behind you.

A cup of tea always made you feel better, even if it didn't necessarily help you sleep. You hoped it would happen tonight, though.

As you gathered everything you needed for it, your mind started to wander. A lot of things flooded your mind, but mainly what you needed to do before leaving for the next race, mentally making a list of what you had to pack.

You were so distracted that you didn't notice the milk carton falling off the counter until you heard the loud noise it made when it hit the ground. Although the noise wasn't particularly loud, the silence in your shared apartment was so intense that even the sound of a hairpin falling could be deafening. You quickly bent down to pick it up, stopping it from spilling completely.

Before finding something to clean up with, you stayed still for a moment, looking back at the hallway and mentally praying you didn't wake Lando up. When you didn’t hear anything, you proceeded to clean up the mess, relieved that you didn’t disturb his sleep.

You continued preparing your tea, and when you were finally done, you took a sip to make sure it was good enough. It wasn’t, but you didn’t feel like starting from scratch, so you just made your way to the couch. 

A few minutes went by, and you were just scrolling on TikTok, your hand still holding the hot cup of tea as you occasionally took little sips. That was something you were used to doing this late at night, killing time until your body was tired enough to go back to bed. You looked at the time again, sighing loudly at the fact that you weren’t as tired as you hoped you would be.

“Hey,” you heard behind you, pulling your attention away from your phone. You put the mug down and turned around, spotting a sleepy Lando walking towards you, his eyes tired as he yawned.

"Hi, baby,” you whispered, as if speaking any louder would scare away the sleep he still had. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” “No, you didn’t. I just… I tried to reach for you, but you weren’t there.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled softly at you, sitting next to you and making you scoot over. He was aware of your sleeping issues, so he knew what this was about. “Can’t sleep?” You shook your head as you remembered the endless tossing and turning before getting up. “No, it’s one of those nights again.”

“Everything okay?” He asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, I just can’t seem to fall asleep... I don’t know; I guess I was hoping the tea would help,” you answered, signalling the mug now resting on the coffee table.

“Can I?” He asked as he reached for it, but you quickly shook your head.

“It’s not very good.” Giggling a little, he took it anyway and took a small sip. He didn’t want to make you feel bad about your tea skills, but his face gave it away. “Told you.”

He laughed again, making you smile “I’ve had worse.”

“I really doubt it.” 

“Oh, believe me, you’ve gotten better.” 

You paid attention to how he leaned back on the couch, his hands pulling you to his lap and embracing you. You relaxed into his arms, feeling at ease for the first time that night.

“You need to sleep.”

“I know, but so do you.” He just hummed in response as he caressed your back. “I’m serious, Lando; you need to rest as much as you can before going to Silverstone. I’ll be okay.”

“I care more about you getting enough rest.” His words warmed your heart, but you really needed him to go back to sleep.

“Why don’t you go back to bed, and I’ll join you as soon as I’m done here?”

“I’m comfortable here.”

“Lando-” You started, but he interrupted you.

“Let’s just stay here for a bit, yeah?” You knew there was no point in arguing with him, so you just nodded and hugged him back. Your head was on his chest, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat; your mind focused on it as if it were your favourite sound in the world.

You didn’t notice at first, but the way your breathing was syncing with his made you fall into a much calmer state. So much so that you started to fall asleep in his arms. He, however, was well aware of this. His hands kept soothing the skin under your sleeping shirt until he felt you completely drift off into a peaceful sleep, finally.

He waited just a few more minutes until he was sure he wouldn't wake you up. Slowly, he started getting up, trying to be as careful as he could as he carried you to your room.

Once he got there, he laid you down in bed, happy that his plan had worked. He laid next to you and pulled you into him again, kissing your temple softly with a smile. “Good night, baby,” he whispered, falling asleep almost immediately.