#LET ME PUSH THIS MAN TO THE POINT HE HATES ME I NEED TO KNOW OPS HEADCANONS AND I AM FUCKING GETTING THEM

[syluss-karaoke-teacher]

Love and Deepspace - Nightly Rendezvous - Part IV, Sylus

And finally we complete the series with Sylus' card!! I admit, I kinda dreaded him bc alongside Raf he is my main and his card was so breathtakingly emotional, not to mention pretty much canonically their first time. Hope I was able to do it justice!

Word count: 2539 words

MDNI! Main text under the cut. You have been warned.

NOTE: This fic is only posted on tumblr and on AO3 under the pseud Yuli_Hunter. All other uploads on any other websites are non-authorized. I do not own any part of Love and Deepspace as an IP, but I do own this piece of fanfiction, and you are not allowed to repost it, copy it or otherwise claim it as your own.

That's it, enjoy! ❤️

Tags: reader!MC, fem!reader, PWP, fingering and oral (f!receiving), PIV, mentions of overstimulation, Sylus is king of consent, emotional sex, first time together, yes I make all of them eat MC out what are you going to do about it?

Not beta-read we die like Grandma

You point the gun at his chest with a victorious smirk.

“I won. Now for my prize, Mr. Crow.”

Sylus chuckles, the sound rumbling deep from his chest as he raises his hands in mock surrender. His crimson eyes reflect the crackling fire that illuminates the living room.

“Fair and square kitten. Ask away.”

The tension between you two is so thick you could almost grasp it with your hands. In many ways it is not unlike your first ever meeting. Back then you hated him, hated everything he represented. Then you thought you hated him, and then wished you hated him.

And now… Now you hate that you ever hated him.

You still don’t know why Sylus decided to meet you the way he did, but you aren’t naïve enough anymore to believe it’s solely because he is the boss of Onychinus. The discoveries you have made along your journey have made you painfully aware of just how incomplete your worldview was.

The man before you is a killer and a criminal, yes. But a monster he is not. After all he has shown that he is capable of changing and learning from his mistakes; if not for anything or anyone else, then at least for you.

That is why the famously impatient and easily bored man waits for you, his silver eyebrow arched in a silent question, not pushing or prompting. As he has done from the minute he heard you despised him.

Sylus has no problem embarrassing you: he enjoys seeing you squirm and blush, whether due to walking around in little more than a towel hanging precariously from his sinful hips, or due to the sudden tenderness that he slips into your everyday moments together. He doesn’t hide his gaze raking over your body as you try on a new designer dress he bought for you, and if you ask him directly he will tell you in no uncertain terms just how beautiful you are to him. Yet despite the intensity that oozed from his very being, he always stopped at just the right distance. If you so wanted, this night would end like your nights so far had always ended: in separate bedrooms, with you getting more frustrated each time.

Well, not anymore. If you wanted to play the part of a big, fearless hunter, you should be able to manage this much of an offensive.

“I’m getting tired, Sylus.” To emphasize your words, you fake a yawn and stretch.

Sylus lowers his hands and cocks his head to the side. “That doesn’t sound like a question, sweetie.”

You pointedly ignore his jab, place the gun on the table and lay your hands on his shoulders instead.

“Can you take me to bed?”

There’s a sharp flash in his eyes, and you watch as his whole being refocuses on you. His muscles tense ever so slightly, and you see his Adam’s apple bob before he answers you.

“I thought you wanted to know my destination for tomorrow.”

For an outsider that would be a perfectly normal question. But to you, the only one that Sylus has let this close, the quiet raspiness in his voice tells you everything you need to know; the great leader of Onychinus is in the palm of your hand.

You slide your fingers up the sides of his neck to cradle his face. The crackling of the fireplace isn’t quite enough to drown out the quickening of his breath as you lean in closer.

“I’d rather live in the present, so I won’t dwell on a situation beyond my control. So… will you?”

Sylus’ answer is an unsteady exhale before he tightens one broad arm around your waist. You loop your arms around his shoulders as he lifts you off the couch and starts walking towards the master bedroom. His hand on your thigh almost burns through the flimsy fabric of your loungewear set, and his other hand gently turns your head towards him as he passes through the dimly lit corridors. He doesn’t break your gaze for a second, not even as he settles you on the ground between the loveseat and the bed.

“If you want to go to sleep, you need to release me,” he murmurs, making no move to pull apart. You look up at him coyly and press your body against him. Your head barely comes up to his chin, and you can feel his heart thundering in his chest.

“What if I don’t want to let go of you?”

Sylus smirks, but you see that the corner of his mouth quivering. His hold on you tightens again and he turns you both around before nodding towards the loveseat.

“Then I can keep holding you until dawn,” he says and runs his hand up and down your spine. The heat in his gaze is unmistakable now, and yet he doesn’t act on it. The man who forced you to fire a bullet into his heart the first time you met would now rather rip that same heart out with his own bare hands rather than make you uncomfortable.

The sweet tenderness makes you ache, but right at this moment a feeling far more intense demands to be let loose.

You bring your hands to Sylus’ chest and push him onto the loveseat. He lets out a small, surprised huff as you climb onto his lap and cradle his head once more in your hands.

“Then hold me,” you whisper, only inches away from his lips, “until dawn and beyond.”

The small kiss is all it takes for the dam to break. Sylus moans into your mouth and winds his arm tightly behind your hips and his other hand behind your head, locking you in place as he takes the lead. Sylus’ kisses are all-consuming and feverish, with no room for hesitation. You had been confident that he would return your feelings, but the sheer intensity of his actions leaves you breathless.

When your lips are red and swollen he finally pulls away, only to press a line of kisses along your jaw and neck. His hands run along your hips and ass and pull you flush against him. You whine as you feel the outline of his hard cock against your clothed core. He rocks his hips experimentally against yours.

“Is this okay?” he asks as he kisses your earlobe, “you’ll tell me if you want me to stop, right kitten?”

You answer by kissing him deeply. For a moment he lets you grind against him, but then pulls you back and looks at you with seriousness you didn’t expect.

“I need you to say it: ‘I will tell Sylus to stop whenever I want to.’”

You study his face for a moment, and that tender aching in your chest simmers to life again.

“I will tell you to stop whenever I want to,” you echo back to him. “Now take me to bed.”

You gasp as strong hands grab your ass and lift you up as effortlessly as picking up a kitten by its scruff. Sylus’ lips latch onto your neck and the twinge of pain as he sucks on your skin sends a jolt of electricity down to your core.

Sylus sets you down on the bed. His massive frame blocks the ceiling light almost completely from view. It makes his eyes shine even brighter, and you feel your breath catching in your throat. You lift your fingers to gently trace the corner of the eye wherein his Aether core resides.

“Am I greedy if I say I want you to only look at me?”. Sylus isn’t using his power on you, but you can hear your innermost thoughts raging in your head, nonetheless. They form only one name, one target.

Sylus smiles. It isn’t teasing or arrogant as his usual smirks; your question seems to delight him.

“You have always had the right to demand it, kitten. Which means you can be even greedier now.”

He lifts up your hips and grinds your core against his. You whine as he rocks himself against your silk shorts, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the wetness that soils your panties underneath. The friction of the fabric against your clit makes your toes curl and you squeeze Sylus’ arm in response.

“Sylus…” you groan between kisses. The world around you grows hazy as your brain struggles to give orders to your body. You want everything from him, all at once, but the words die on your tongue and morph into moans and gasps instead.

Luckily there is an end to Sylus’ self-control after all. Just as you think you can’t take it anymore, he leans his forehead against yours and looks at you so reverently it forces your addled mind into focus once more.

“Do you want this?” he asks. This, meaning him, on you, inside you, tonight or for all eternity?

“Yes. All of it. All of you.”

A twinge of energy skitters along your skin as Sylus’ Evol surges from his fingertips. In seconds both of your clothes fall apart, covering the bed in black tatters. Before you can so much as squeak Sylus flips you over and settles you onto his chest. You gasp at the feeling of your bare pussy pressing against his firm chest. He spreads you wide open and strokes the skin of your thighs with his thumbs.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop once I get to taste you,” he says as his fingers slide closer to your center. “So I’m hoping your answer won’t change.”

You shake your head and let your eyes fall close as Sylus strokes your glistening folds with the calloused pads of his fingers. He stays away from your clit, making you whine from frustration. He chuckles and you slap his chest in retaliation.

“I need to hear what you need, sweetie,” he replies as he catches your hand and brings it his lips to kiss it. “Your pleasure is my pleasure. Whatever you want me to do, I will.”

He pushes your hand backwards past your hips. You blindly reach behind you and shudder as you feel his heavy cock resting against his abdomen. The slight touch makes him sigh and you watch as a beautiful flush rises on his cheeks as you gingerly stroke him.

“See how little it takes? Just the mere opportunity to be able to please you has made me this way. So believe me when I say this, kitten… You are allowed to ask anything of me.”

Your breathing struggles to flow as you take in his words. Your thighs tremble at his sides as you finally swallow your hesitation.

“Your mouth, Sylus… I want you to use your mou—”

The rest of the sentence is drowned in a pitiful wail as Sylus pulls you forward onto his face. You hastily brace yourself on the headboard as he pushes his tongue inside you. You can feel his nose bumping against your clit as he eats you out like a man starved. Instinctively you rock your hips against the divine, soft heat of his mouth. You feel him groan against you, his hands gripping you even tighter to block out any notion of pulling back from your position.

“Sylus, Sylus, oh god…” you whimper as you try to stay upright. You feel so incredibly wet it’s almost humiliating, but the relentless pressure makes you forget any rational thought as you fast approach a high you have never experienced before. You feel Sylus take his other hand from your hip and maneuver it under you, and before you can ask him if he needs a break you feel him slide his middle finger inside your pussy. He changes his position to focus more on your clit as he rubs you from the inside. The change in pace makes you howl.

“Please, please, oh god, feels so good Sylus, please, I’m—” you babble and grip the headboard with white knuckles. Stars swim into your vision as your body tenses to a breaking point. When Sylus pushes another finger in your mouth falls agape in a silent scream and you crash over the peak. The orgasm rolls over you like a tidal wave, and if it wasn’t for the strength of Sylus’ hands you would collapse entirely.

You feel like floating when Sylus lifts you up and flips you over onto your back. He wipes his glistening jaw with the back of his hand as he stares into your eyes with a hunger that hasn’t been satiated in the slightest. You let him manhandle you into spreading your legs for him, hands pressing your things apart and down, his cock dragging itself against your glistening pussy.

“More,” he whispers as he squeezes your thighs almost painfully. “Please, let me hear it. Tell me you want it too.”

You watch as his cockhead catches onto your entrance before sliding forward once more. You feel yourself clenching around nothing as you image him inside you, claiming you, filling you to the brim. You are still quivering from your high as you plead him to take you, all of you.

The moment you give him permission he takes it to heart again. He pushes inside you slowly, lets you adjust to his size, his broad chest heaving with the effort of holding back. His eyes are glazed over with both want and something soft, something you don’t dare yet name. His figure becomes unfocused as tears well up in your eyes from the almost painful fullness.

“Sylus, it’s too much,” you gasp, and he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Just breathe, almost there.”

By the time he has pressed himself in to the hilt of his cock your head is trashing against the pillows and your pussy is leaking around him in a desperate effort to ease the intrusion. Your mind grows hazy once more as he starts to rock into you, and you could swear you feel his cock nudging your goddamn throat at this point. Just as you think you can’t take much more you feel Sylus’ fingers rub tight circles on your clit.

“Let go sweetie. You can cum as many times as you want. We have the whole night after all.”

And with that he pulls out almost completely before slamming back in, his cock pushing straight against the sweet spot inside you. Your world goes white as you shatter around him.

This time he doesn’t stop. He fucks you like a man possessed, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you as you fight to stay coherent. Only your fourth one proves too much for him and he finally spills inside you with a long, shaking groan. Even then it’s merely a moment’s distraction. His cock doesn’t even soften inside you: instead, he fucks his seed deeper into you while shaking from overstimulation. You tell him with a failing voice that he too can stop if he wants to, but your only answer are blunt nails pressing crescent moon shapes into your hips as he carries you both deep into the night.

Tell me you want it.

I do, Sylus. I want it all.

[lustlovehart]

Currently thinking about TWYD (The Water You Drown) Jade ough.... You know what's better than a slimy man who you were made to marry and who consistently makes your life hell from his deceitful way? A lovestruck man who, despite your attempts of pushing him away, your history has him continuing to hold on to your affection in a desperate hope the pure love you had for Azul will be aimed his way.

Cw: Doting husband Jade, Kissing, some angst, Possession, Biting, last part is harsher

TWYD Jade, who makes sure after murdering your (Shadow) husband, every place is lit. 40 minutes before sunset, he'll go through the entirety of the estate, himself, and light up each candle. He's careful not to get too close but somehow very thorough. If you catch him, he'll flash a pin-sharp smile and say he's comforting his dear spouse and their childish fear of the dark.

"My, I'm just making sure you don't cling onto me at night so tightly. Next, I know you'll be asking me to check under our bed."

"... Sleep on the couch you urchin."

TWYD Jade, who makes sure to hold you tight whenever you're in the dark, a reminder that you don't have to worry. He insists it's you clinging onto him, but the way he's quick to wrap an arm around your waist when you freeze at the sight of shadows. His grasp is firm with each step, making sure to not let you go for even a second.

"Do be careful; next you know a hand may cling to your wear." You don't reply with a sharp insult, only holding onto the hand that clings to you.

TWYD Jade, who kisses your mouth in your sleep whenever you're about to whisper his name. Don't. He doesn't want to focus on him, only you. At some point, he stays up the whole night from the number of times you say his name, each utterance has him placing his lips on yours like a lifeline. He'll keep doing this until his name leaves your lips. He hates doing this, not from the exchange of lips; no no that's his favorite part. He hates that you look so breathtaking whispering another man's name, one whose shadow you've killed.

His lips feel cold when they leave yours, a deep desire to dive in and never let you escape his mouth. When your lips part, ready to whisper again, he prepares himself for another heartache.

"...Jade?" He flinches when his name comes out instead. "... What are you-?" you're stopped from asking him when he kisses you again. Exhaustion has you unclear of what he's whispering, but maybe that's what he wants.

...

"I wish to be your shadow."

TWYD Jade, who becomes your second shadow. No matter your jabs at him, he remains diligent in smiling with fake pleasantry. Whether you're on an errand or simply drinking tea. He will be there, ever consuming of all your time. He's intimidating to have tail you, as whenever another man so much as breathe, Jade becomes a dutiful butler and attends to every need. It's unsettling because you don't feel jealousy radiate from him, yet he acts as if he is. Whether you tell him to leave or die, he'll feign hurt and fall into your arms with drama, crocodile tears falling as he loudly proclaims his spouse's hatred for him for the whole social to hear.

The thing you hate though, is that you don't seem to hate it anymore.

...

Even though, you can see the way his wispy hand will stray near a man's neck, and shadows will caress his skin before disappearing, you don't despise it. Even when that man complains about having trouble breathing, you don't hate him.

The only time you seem to hate him now, is when he brings up him.

"I thought your marriage to Azul has subsided from your mind." you allow Jade to play with the collar of your top, the mention of Azul having you flinch.

"... He will never subside, only linger." You can't see Jade's expression, but you can feel some negative emotion leave him. A shiver goes up your spine at the feeling of his finger tapping on the nape of your neck. "Jade...? What are you-"

You hiss at the feeling of sharp teeth indenting on your neck. It's not hurtful at all, only hard enough to leave an indent on your skin. When you look back at Jade, the familiar duplicitous smile of his is on his lips.

"You're married to me. You proved so when..."

...

Does... does he know?

"Jade, what do you speak of?" his smile only grows wider, tilting his head before dropping it on your shoulder.

"When you kissed me, of course." you leave his words at that, turning your head to face your lap, sitting impossibly still as he rests on you.

There's more to Jade... You should've known ever since that happened. There's a reason he grows feint and wispy in light, and... you must know, if you're married to yet another pain.

In your thoughts, Jade's lips kiss your temple, whispering words he's waited to say outright for so long.

"I truly do love you." It pains you to know those are the most genuine words Jade has ever spoken to you.

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

May or may not have linked the last part as a small introduction to Ombre's Misfortune (the epilogue >:))

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Jealousy

Just an idea that popped into my head. So many jealous!Bucky fics but where's my jealous!reader ones?

Summary: You get jealous when you see Bucky so close to someone and decide to do something to stake your claim

"Staring like that won't do anything."

You glance to your left, raising an eyebrow as Natasha takes a seat next to you. She smiles back, clearly amused at your predicament and takes a sip from her glass of what smells like whisky. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to your glass, poking the large ice cube inside.

"I'm not staring." You scowl, stabbing the ice a little harder with the toothpick in your hand.

"Glaring then. I could feel the heat all the way from the other side of the room."

"Oh please, that's an exaggeration. The only heat around here is the body heat from all the party guests." You look up at Natasha who has this devious look in her eyes. You're a little afraid of what's going to happen next, the last time you saw that look in her eyes was when Tony found all his suits decorated in bright pink confetti that refused to come off for a week.

"Really? Then tell me, how long has that girl been harassing Barnes for?"

"About fifteen minutes give or take." The words slip out before you know it, and regret immediately hits. You just proved Nat's point, and you hate yourself for it.

"Ok fine, I was staring. But it's only to ensure she doesn't do anything shady, or go too far." You raise your hands in surrender. Natasha's smirk lets you know she hasn't bought that excuse one bit.

"Go on." Natasha is clearly trying to hold in her laughter, enjoying it as you fumble for more excuses as to why you were staring at Bucky and the girl by his side.

"Was Y/N caught staring at a certain someone again?" A new voice joins in the conversation and you groan. Wanda slides into view, eyes bright with amusement. "You're getting less subtle as time goes on."

"Please just leave me to drink in peace," you sigh, flopping face first onto the table.

"When the chance is right there?" Wanda chuckles, placing a hand on your shoulder. "You need to go there now and ask him out, or that girl is going to steal him away."

"Couldn't have put it any better myself." Sam comes into view, grinning like a maniac. "I told you before, Bucky's obsessed with you. Man refuses to shut up about you, mentioning your name in his vicinity just sets him off and suddenly he's rambling like some grandfather telling his grandkids about the good old days."

"Will the three of you just scram?" You weakly hit Sam in the arm, causing him to laugh.

"No can do, Y/N. Not when we're the best wingmen and wingwomen in the house." He flashes the other two a grin which they return, clearly delighting in your suffering.

"Hear hear," Wanda chimes in and you give her a small push of annoyance.

"Time's ticking, Y/N. The girl's starting to feel Barnes up." Natasha pats you on the back. "It's now or never."

"I'm going to end all three of you someday." You mutter, pushing yourself upright. Looking at the man who captured your attention the night you found him in the kitchen trying to distract from the nightmares, you realise that he is, in fact, trying to extract himself from the girl whose hands have wandered a little too far.

Something takes over, maybe it's the beast inside that wants to lay claim to everything you consider precious, maybe it's jealousy at how forward the girl is compared to you, but whatever it is, it sends you forwards towards the pair.

Your fingers curl into fists, eyes narrowed as you stalk towards them, a fire coiling inside your chest.

"Hands off my man, or I'll remove those hands for you. Permanently." The words come out as a growl, and your eyes darken. You may be shorter than Bucky, but you're far more intimidating right now, standing by his side as you place a hand on the small of his back.

Bucky blinks, looking at you with surprise written all over his face. He's only seen you like this once — when he'd been badly injured during a mission. Back then you'd stood over him, snarling at anyone who came a little too close and tearing into enemies who dared to try until the medics arrived. Even then, it had taken the combined efforts of Sam and Natasha to calm you down enough such that the medics could attend to him.

"Oh, you didn't tell me you were already seeing someone." The girl smiles, waving at you. "They seem…nice."

Bucky laughs nervously, "they are…nice…"

You narrow your eyes, lips curling and the girl backs off, hands raised in surrender.

"Alright alright, I'll be going on now. See you around, Bucky! If you ever want an upgrade, you know where to look." She winks, waving at him as she leaves, dress swirling around her legs. You hiss, glowering at her retreating figure before turning around, ready to head back to your drinks when a hand rests on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Hey doll, about what just happened —"

"Nothing happened." You push his hand off but he simply moves to block your way, giving you a poke in the chest.

"You at least owe me an explanation as to when I became 'your man'." His ice blue eyes sparkle with mirth, a finger gently sliding under your chin to tilt your head upwards. "Is this your way of proposing to me?"

"I —" You feel your cheeks heat up. "I just —"

"Speechless? That's a first." He smiles and you hear your heart thundering in your chest. "You know, if you wanted to go out with me, all you had to do was ask."

You swallow, placing a hand on his chest and push. "You just seemed uncomfortable with her, that's all. Go find yourself a better upgrade."

"That's going to be impossible. After all, I've already found the perfect one and they're standing right in front of me." He closes the distance, taking your hand in his. "So where would you like to take 'your man' tomorrow at 7pm?"

You stare up at him, stomach flipping. Your mouth opens and closes but no words come out. Is this real? Did Bucky just agree to go out on a date with you?

"Does pizza night work or would you prefer something fancier?" He probes, giving your cheek a poke. "Earth to Y/N, are you still there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, pizza night works. That…that sounds good. I'll see you then." You fidget nervously, struggling to compose yourself.

"Didn't think all it took to shut you up was ask you out on a date. If I'd known that I'd have asked you out earlier." He nudges you with his elbow, chuckling.

"Shut up. I'm talking now, aren't I?" You huff, glaring at him.

"There's my Y/N, back to being the most annoyed person to ever exist." He reaches over to ruffle your hair but you shove his hand away.

"Well, I wouldn't be so annoyed if a certain idiot would stop being an idiot." You're fighting the losing battle of being irritated at him, weakened by his acceptance of going out on a date with you tomorrow.

"You did just ask said idiot out, what does that make you?" He grins.

"Someone who's stupidly in love with said idiot, I suppose." You lightly punch him in the chest, embarrassed, and he laughs.

"About time I got you to admit it." He smiles softly at you. "Sam told me that you returned my feelings but I never quite believed it until now. I told him I'd wait until you asked me out, and here we are, although I didn't expect your proposal to go like this."

"I'm too sober for this, I need more drinks. Coming with?" You pinch the bridge of your nose and start to head towards the bar.

"Of course. Can't let my doll out of my sight now, can I? Not after they claimed me so dramatically." He loops his arm around yours and you feel the tips of your ears burn. You can smell his cologne, his scent, and he's yours now, officially. It makes you giddier than any alcohol ever could and it's a nice feeling. Maybe asking Bucky out wasn't such a bad idea after all, even if it didn't go as planned. It did turn this party into a memorable one, and you're sure that girl won't be back to try anything funny.

You're still going to end those three wingmen and wingwomen though.

[wikiangela]

the moments we share stay a secret from the world

ship: sambucky rating: G words: 1.7k spoilers for captain america: brave new world

[also on ao3]

___

As soon as the door closes behind Sam, he slumps against it with a groan. It’s been a long few days. He’s tired, a little bruised and broken, and all he wants is to get in bed and sleep for a week straight. He knows that’s impossible, this job being really a full-time, 24/7 thing, so he’ll take any rest he can get. If he can get to his bedroom, that is – he feels like any energy left him as soon as he stepped foot in his apartment, only now the adrenaline leaving him, worry seeping out now that he knows Joaquin is okay, and all that’s left is pure exhaustion. He could fall asleep right here, at the front door, standing up.

With a deep, heavy sigh that feels like it comes from deep in his soul, he pushes away from the door and forces his legs to take him to the bathroom. He desperately needs a hot shower first.

The walk seems to take forever, and in between the front door and the bathroom, he manages to pull out his phone and shoot a quick text that just reads ‘ur full of shit, could’ve used that serum right about now.’

He doesn’t wait for a response, he doesn’t expect one anyway. They usually text, but at this hour there’s a bigger chance the old man would call instead. He doesn’t wait for that, either. Just tosses his phone on the bed when he walks through the bedroom, then strips out of his clothes and hauls his aching body into the shower. He stands under the hot water for as long as his legs let him, letting it soothe the strained muscles, but careful of all the stitches and wounds. He’s way too used to those by now.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he finally leaves the bathroom, just a towel around his waist, dragging his feet on his way to the bed – only to see an unexpected visitor sitting at the end of it. 

“Hey,” Sam says, barely even phased. As unexpected as it is to see Bucky here, it’s not all that surprising at this point. “So we don’t knock anymore?”

“I don’t.” Bucky shrugs, a hint of a smile on his face, as he leans back on his hands, eyes scanning Sam’s half naked body up and down, worry carefully hidden, visible only in his eyes, only to Sam. He looks comfortable as if he was at his own place. He’s not dressed in a suit anymore, now wearing his usual black jeans, and a leather jacket, unzipped to reveal a plain black t-shirt. Some things never change – and not all should, he looks damn good like this. Sam thinks he prefers this version. “And you don’t mind.”

“Hm, well, as long as it’s you and not someone who tries to kill me, break into my place all you want.” Sam waves his hand, walking over to his closet to grab some sweats to sleep in. 

“You don’t have to get dressed on my account.” Bucky says, that flirtatious tone in his voice that Sam hates and loves at the same time. 

“If you want a show, you gotta earn it,” he throws back with a grin over his shoulder, that might come off more as a grimace, with the way his whole body aches. He feels Bucky’s eyes on himself as he shamelessly drops the towel on the floor, grabs some sweatpants and puts them on. 

“Eh, you don’t look so good tonight, I’ll pass.” Bucky teases, the usual humor covering up what he’s not saying, the worry and concern at all the cuts and injuries and bruises all over Sam’s body, the regret about not being there to help. “Seriously, Sam,” Bucky adds, a complete change in tone, “you look awful.”

“Wow, thanks.” Sam rolls his eyes, turning to face Bucky again. He can feel his eyes analyzing all his wounds and bruises. The stab wound in his chest stings, but he ignores it. “I’m fine, Buck. Nothing new, nothing I haven’t survived before. It comes with the job,” he shrugs, one of his shoulders protesting and he can’t hide a wince.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Bucky adds quietly, blue eyes finding Sam’s. 

“Me too.” Sam sighs. “Could’ve really used that super strength of yours,” he adds, trying to keep it light. The truth is, he misses being a team, out there, on the battlefield. He’s never been more in tune with anyone, especially now. They know each other inside out, they can communicate without words, it’s like Bucky lives in his head – which isn’t untrue.

“You did amazing without it. You can do it without it, without me. You know that, right? You don’t need me.”

“Yeah,” he takes a step towards the bed, then another. “Yeah, I know. I’m doing my best.” He might not need Bucky, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want him, as a partner, as a friend, in whatever way he can. But he also knows he’s capable by himself. He has to be. Steve chose him for a reason, and he needs to stop doubting that choice, doubting whether he deserves it. It’s easier said than done, but he’s trying. He did a damn good job today, though, if he says so himself.

“I’ll always have your back.” Buck promises, and Sam knows that. If he could, he’d be there, fighting by his side. He’ll be there if Sam ever needs him. 

“I know.” Sam stops in front of Bucky, whose curious eyes look him up and down again. 

“How’s Torres?”

“Awake. He’ll be okay. I just-”

“Feel guilty?” Bucky guesses. He really knows Sam so well. “Sam, none of what happened was your fault. Including him.”

“I know,” he repeats with a sigh, running a hand over his face. “Hard not to feel that way sometimes.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky nods, understanding better than anyone. They don’t need a lot of words, not right now. They’ll talk, debrief, and discuss everything at some point. Tonight, Sam is just so damn tired.

He climbs into Bucky’s lap, straddling him – he wishes he could say he did it without wincing in pain, but alas. Bucky’s hands immediately rest gently on his hips, gripping lightly but firmly, careful not to hurt him further. Sam knows he’s dying to examine all his wounds and make sure he’s okay, but Sam’s been to the hospital, he’s fine, he doesn’t need him to fuss.

“Now, what did I do to deserve a visit from the future congressman James Buchanan Barnes? It’s a rare sight lately. And twice in two days?” He teases. Bucky rolls his eyes. They haven’t been seeing each other as often as they’d like, both busy with their new jobs, and keeping this relationship private, but they try. Sam would rather have those few moments once in a while than none at all. 

“I meant it, I missed you,” Bucky shrugs, earnest and genuine as he smiles softly. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fucking exhausted and beaten up, and I could sleep for a week.” Sam sighs, slumping against Bucky. Bucky’s right hand gently moves up his side, caresses his skin, mindful of his bruised and cracked ribs, until he cradles Sam’s cheek. Sam leans into the touch. “Can you stay the night?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t have anywhere to be until morning.”

“Good.” Sam whispers, and finally presses his lips to Bucky’s, his hands finding his jacket and helping him out of it. All he wants is to fall asleep in his man’s arms right now, he wants to keep him here as long as he can, until they both need to go back to their roles and titles, and keep their personal life under wraps.

They kiss slowly, lazily, until Sam’s yawn breaks it, and Bucky chuckles, standing up with Sam still in his arms, then gently places him down on the bed – any other night, if Sam wasn’t half asleep and what feels like half-alive, it’d get him going immediately, his boyfriend’s strength always such a turn on. As it is, Sam forces his limbs to work a little bit longer to scoot up the bed and onto the pillow, then waits for Bucky to take off his jeans and join him.

He tries to wrap himself around Bucky, but he can’t breathe on his side, his ribs are not in the best state, cuts and bruises on the rest of his body are hurting. So he settles on his back, as comfortably as he can, and brings Buck as close as possible. Bucky slips his right arm under Sam’s head, the metal of the left one lightly pressing against his abdomen, as Bucky holds him.

“Can you promise me something?” Sam asks sleepily, already starting to nod off.

“What’s that?”

“Can you wake me up when you have to go, no matter what time?” He just wants to say goodbye, he doesn’t want Bucky to just disappear into the night. He could get out without waking Sam up, his stealth skills as impressive as always. But Sam wants to see him, kiss him one more time, watch him leave. Get one more second together.

“Of course, Sam. Now sleep, I’m right here.” Sam feels a soft kiss to his head.

“I love you, Buck.” Sam mutters, blinking as he tries to get one more look at his gorgeous blue eyes.

“I love you, too.” Bucky whispers with one more quick kiss to Sam’s lips.

Sam falls asleep to the sound of Bucky’s breathing, feeling his heartbeat where their chests are pressed together, familiar cool metal fingers drawing soothing patterns on his stomach. He’s out within seconds, feeling calm and safe and loved in the arms of his man, knowing that he’ll get woken up way before sunrise, and he’ll have to say goodbye to him again. That’s okay. He’ll have a busy day tomorrow, as well, back to Captain America duties, having to deal with the aftermath of… this whole mess. But for now, it’s just him and Bucky, in the quiet of the night, sleeping in one bed, like a regular couple. Maybe one day it’ll be the norm for them. If not, he’ll take what he can get. 

[also on ao3]

[erimeows]

Drunk In Love

Most nights after work, Team Mustang carpools to the nearest bars. 

Most nights, Riza Hawkeye also gets hit on. 

It’s almost routine at this point. She’s young, beautiful, and carries herself with a calm, sharp confidence that turns heads the moment she walks in. Her military uniform, perfectly pressed, only adds to her appeal- there’s something about a service woman that draws men in like moths to a flame. 

Roy hates it. He hates the way they look at her, the way they hover too close, hoping for a flicker of interest. He hates how they stumble over clumsy pick-up lines that never work and leer like they’ve earned the right to her time. She always rejects them, firmly enough but still kinder than they deserve, and it never affects her and Roy’s dynamic. But still, every time he watches it unfold, something ugly coils in his chest. His throat tightens, his jaw clenches, and his stomach knots itself into something unbearable. He wonders, when women flirt with him in this setting- or when he goes on ‘dates’ with his informants, does Riza feel the same way? And it’s a question that he quickly pushes to the side, because either answer comes with its own set of issues. 

He can’t figure out why it all bothers him so much. Or maybe he already knows and just refuses to admit it. 

Tonight is no different. 

Riza sits beside him at the bar, her chair turned away from the counter so she can face the room- a habit born from years of vigilance. She never lets her guard down, not even here when they’re supposed to be relaxing. Meanwhile, Roy sits properly, facing forward, but his eyes keep flicking to her, drawn to her as if by force. 

A man that’s not nearly attractive enough for someone as beautiful as Riza is standing on her left. He’s been ogling her from across the bar all night with a group of buddies and they stupidly encouraged him to hit on her even though she’s clearly far too good for him. The thought makes Roy sick with something he doesn’t want to dwell on. 

“Hey, there, can I buy you a drink?” The man says, resting his elbow against the counter with a cocky grin and a hunger in his eyes that makes Roy’s blood simmer. 

“No, thank you,” Riza turns him down immediately. Roy lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

Usually, this is where the men say they understand before turning and retreating like mutts with their tails tucked between their legs. But this one is a little drunk and his friends are across the crowded room, even more drunk than he is as they cheer him on. 

“Oh, c’mon, just one drink!”

Riza shifts uncomfortably. Her shoulders tense. A tell that her ever-lasting patience is already starting to thin. The man’s second attempt is loud enough that the rest of the team notices, too. At this point, it just depends on who moves first. Maes is sitting on the other side of Roy, surveying the situation- and Havoc and Falman have both fallen silent to observe as well. Even Fuery and Breda, who are across the room, have stopped to look. But Riza, if pushed, will move before any of them will most of the time. She doesn’t really need them at all. Roy has seen her send men twice her size flying like they weigh nothing when they get a little too frisky. 

“Really,” Riza says, her tone much sharper now. Her impassive gaze has turned into a sharp glare. “Leave me alone.”

But the man still isn’t deterred. 

“Don’t be so uptight. Just one drink, and we can see where it goes from there.”

Riza’s hand drifts to her holster now, fingers twitching as she holds the man’s stare. Roy knows that she can easily handle this by herself, and would probably prefer to do so, but he finds himself emboldened enough by the jealousy (ah, so that’s what it is) that courses through his veins to intervene. 

He stands from his barstool, placing a gloved hand on Riza’s shoulder. He glares at the man standing across from him, who glares right back. And Riza just watches them, stuck in between. Roy is so close to her now that he can smell her cologne- cologne, not perfume- wafting off of her, and in that moment, he finds himself wishing that they could be this close all the time. 

“Back off of my lieutenant,” He finally says, the words coming out far more possessive than he means for them to.

The stranger raises an eyebrow and smirks right back at him. 

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll light you on fire,” And Roy won’t- probably- at least not with both Riza and Maes here to stop him from doing so, but the peculiar threat is enough for the guy to take a step back and cross his arms over his chest. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m The Flame Alchemist,” Roy answers, flashing a smirk. “Care to test out that title?”

Everyone in Amestris has heard of him, so of course, the man’s expression shifts the moment he hears the words leave Roy’s mouth. He takes a step back, wary. 

“Whatever,” He grumbles before retreating back to the booth he came from, a scowl on his face.

Seconds later, he’s dragging his drunk friends from the booth and leaving the building.

“You didn’t have to do that. I was going to shoot at his feet if he kept that up,” Riza says, but she can’t hide the amused grin that takes over her face at just how fast the man retreated under Roy’s threats. “But thank you anyways.”

At that, Roy turns back to her, beaming at the approval. Embarrassing. Maes is sat next to him, laughing his ass off at the display, but Roy doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he meets Riza’s eyes and offers her a soft smile.

“Anything for my lieutenant.”

Riza turns back to her drink, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile stays, growing larger as she peeks at Roy from her peripheral. When their gazes meet again, she laughs.

And Roy swears, he’s never been so conflicted. On one hand, being around her just makes him so… Happy, as of late. On the other hand, he doesn’t like that he gets jealous over her. But of course, he’s been consumed by that selfish sort of feeling since they were kids. He wants to spend time with her, for them to stay by each other’s sides. He doesn’t want her to look or laugh at anyone else the way she does with him.

And he doesn’t want to think about it any further. So, he sits back down in his barstool and orders a shot, ignoring the way that he can feel her honey-hued eyes on him. 

~

Whenever they go out, Roy never drinks too much. At least not when Riza is there, and while it’s mostly because he wants to keep his composure in public, it’s also for a more… Unsavory reason.

The first time he got drunk enough to stumble out the door of the bar- after four shots- Riza insisted on taking him home, and though the memories are foggy, he remembers enjoying them. So, the next time they went, he drank three shots- enough to be decently drunk but still able to remember some of what happened. After that, he started limiting himself to two, which is only enough to get him buzzed, but he always acts a little more drunk than he actually is in an attempt to get Riza to take him home.

And she always does, half-heartedly scolding him about how he drinks too much before helping him into the passenger’s seat of the car and driving him home. She’ll help him back out of the car, walking him into his house and tucking him into bed before inevitably leaving. It happens multiple times a week, to the point that Roy has problems going to sleep if she isn’t there to tuck him into bed.

It’s pathetic. It’s wrong. The morally righteous part of him feels bad for taking advantage of his lieutenant’s protective, caring nature to satisfy his emotional needs, but at the same time… He can’t help himself. He needs her around, and he’s too scared to simply ask her to come home with him. So he does this instead. And it’s not quite as good as the things he won’t admit he fantasizes about, but it’s enough for him.

Tonight is the same as many of the others- he drinks two shots, Riza doesn’t pay attention and assumes he’s had more, and he uses the minimal acting skills he has to convince her that he’s drunk enough that he can’t drive. 

He’s perfected the act, especially lately; a slight slur in his words, a well-timed stumble, a heavy-lidded gaze that hints at inebriation but never quite crosses into absurdity. It’s enough to fool his subordinates, enough to warrant Riza’s steady hands on his body to keep him upright, enough to ensure that she’ll always be the one to take him home.

And so, the pattern continues.

“Alright, sir, let’s get you home,” Riza sighs at the end of the night, looping an arm underneath his armpit to secure his weight against her strong frame.

Breda snickers into his whiskey at the sight.

“Man, the colonel really can’t hold his liquor, can he?”

“Apparently not,” Falman sighs. “He’s been getting hammered every time we go out for a while now. Should we be worried?”

“I don’t know… I hope it’s not that deep, but it’s really not our business either way,” Fuery trails off with a small frown, glancing between Roy and Riza with worried eyes. 

Havoc takes a drag off of his cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke as he stares at Riza.

“You’re a saint, Hawkeye. If I had to drag his drunk ass home every night we went out, I’d quit. I don’t even know why you bother coming anymore, knowing that your night is going to end with a drunken bastard of a colonel in your passenger seat.”

Riza rolls her eyes at them, but says nothing as she guides Roy out of the dimly lit bar and towards her car. The drive is short and silent, just as it tends to be. Were it anyone else, Roy would be uncomfortable, but silence with Riza has always been easy in a way that makes his chest feel warm.

When they get to Roy’s house, Riza helps him out of the car like she always does. Roy feels a sad, nervous weight on his chest, knowing that their time like this together is about to end- that in just a few hours, they’re going to be back at work, in uniform, acting like a colonel and his lieutenant. Roy shouldn’t be so upset. That is what they are. But a terrible, undeserving part of him wants more. Wants her.

No, that’s a ridiculous thought. Roy immediately pushes it to the side as Riza leads him to his bedroom. 

He shrugs off his jacket, kicks off his boots, and ‘stumbles’ into the bed. Riza follows close behind so she can gently drag his blanket up over his body and slip a pillow beneath his head. 

“Stay?” Roy asks, and it’s a stupid question that slips out before he can think better of it- one that he tries not to think too hard about- but he knows that if it doesn’t go the way he wants it too, he can blame it on having had a little too much to drink like he always does. 

“You know I can’t do that, sir.”

And he does know. If they were to come into work at the same time tomorrow, in the same car- if anyone were to see her car in his driveway, to see them leave his house together- they would get the wrong idea. But he needs to know if that’s really the only reason she’s refusing to stay. 

“But do you want to?”

“You should know the answer to that by now,” Riza answers after a little too long. Roy has no idea how to interpret the words. She pauses there, standing in front of him like she wants to do something else, but then she’s turning for the door with a frown on her face. “Good night.”

~

The next day is a blur. From waking up painfully alone to having to trudge into work with a pounding headache, it’s been less than ideal. But, Riza is there, and that’s enough to make things a little better. 

There is, however, something throwing him off. An unfamiliar scent that floats around the office as they near the end of their work day. It’s subtle at first, a ghost of a fragrance lingering in the air as Riza walks past his desk to check the mission reports stacked in front of him. He doesn’t notice it immediately, but when she pauses by the bookshelf, it hits him. 

“Are you wearing a new cologne, lieutenant?” Roy asks before he even realizes the words have left his mouth.

It’s not bad, but it is different. Rather than the sort of sweet, subtle scent she wore before, this one is a little more harsh- a little more spicy. 

Riza turns to face him, surprise flickering across her soft features.

“Yes, sir.”

He studies her expression, the slight tilt of her head, the way her brows lift just a fraction as if she hadn’t expected him to notice. He wonders if he’s gone too far, crossed some sort of unspoken boundary without realizing it. But he’s already said the words, and he doesn’t want this to become awkward, so he pressed on. 

“I see,” He murmurs. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Thank you,” She smiles, and then looks over at the clock on the wall. “Ah, it’s past five. I should be getting home before Black Hayate gets impatient.”

Of course. She always leaves promptly at the end of the workday on nights that the team doesn’t go out. 

“Of course. Have a good night, lieutenant,” Roy says with a smile, though he can’t hide the disappointment that runs through him when she turns and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

The scent of her cologne lingers. 

Now, it’s just him and Maes. 

A sigh falls from in between Roy’s lips, and before he can dwell too much on the odd, restless feeling twisting in his stomach, Maes clears his throat from the other side of the room. 

“Huh,” Maes starts, looking over at Roy from where he’s sat at his desk. “I didn’t know she wore cologne.”

“She’s always worn cologne,” Roy explains. He holds a book on alchemy in his hands, skimming over the pages again and again, but the words don’t stick. He’s been so distracted by Riza lately that he can’t focus on much of anything aside from her. “Though it’s been the same one for the last few years… Armstrong Noir, I think? The change is unusual for her… I wonder if something happened.”

There’s a beat of silence before Maes speaks again, tone laced with something suspiciously close to amusement. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little reckless to say stuff like that in the office?”

Roy’s brow furrows. He frowns, glancing up at Maes with confusion in his eyes.

“What are you getting at, Maes?”

“I mean that people might figure out that you two are, y’know, together.”

The words take a second to register. Roy blinks.

“...What?”

“You don’t need to lie to me, buddy,” Maes leans back in his chair, shooting a knowing look across the room. His hazel eyes have a mischievous glint to them. “I’m cool, I can keep a secret.”

Roy sits there, taking a moment to process the words, and then it clicks. Maes Hughes thinks that he and Riza Hawkeye are secretly dating. And the idea is so absurd (and delightful) that Roy laughs before responding to him.

“Maes…” Roy sets the book down with a huff, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his gloved thumb and pointer finger at the implication. Him and Riza, in a relationship. A romantic one. The idea isn’t horrible, which he doesn’t want to think about, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. “Lieutenant Hawkeye and I are not in any sort of romantic relationship.”

“Oh my God, you’re not lying,” Maes gasps, his eyes wide as he points at Roy with one finger. “You’re not making the face.”

“The face?”

“Hawkeye pointed it out to me once- you make this face when you lie, and now I can’t unsee it,” Maes explains. That’s something that Roy didn’t even know about himself. “Anyway, you two really aren’t together?”

“No. Why would you even think that?”

“I mean… Everyone thinks that.”

“Well, they have no reason to,” Roy pouts, trying to figure out how to change the subject. He doesn’t want to think about this right now. The attachment to Hawkeye that he’s been dealing with as of late has been inconvenient enough. “What, a guy can’t have a female adjutant without them being in some sort of relationship? What a sexist viewpoint- from someone who has a daughter, nonetheless. I’m disappointed in you, Maes.”

“Laying it on a little thick there,” Maes grins. “Feeling guilty?”

“Of course not. I have nothing to feel guilty about,” Roy says, the words low, but it’s not true. He has plenty to feel guilty about, especially in regards to her. “But you need to get that idea out of your mind. My relationship with Lieutenant Hawkeye is strictly professional… And friendly at most.”

“You’re making the face now,” Maes snickers.

“Shut up.”

“Dude. You know what brand of cologne she wears by name.”

“We’ve been working together for a long time.”

“Okay, what brand of cologne do I wear?” Maes demands. Roy opens his mouth to answer, only to realize that he can’t, because he has no idea what brand of cologne Maes wears. “That’s what I thought.”

“I see her more often than I see you, Maes,” He tries to justify it, even as he sits there with the cogs turning in his head. Maes has a point. This doesn’t make sense. “It doesn’t mean anything. When you work with someone every day, you learn those things about them over time.”

“You share your lunch with her every single day.”

“That doesn’t mean anything either,” Roy argues. Riza never brings her own lunch and gets so busy that she doesn’t go to the cafeteria to buy one- of course he shares his. It’s a decent thing to do. “I’d do the same for you if you forgot to bring yours.”

“Okay, how about when we were out at the bar last night?”

Roy’s cheeks flush with embarrassment as he thinks back to that idiotic man he threatened. Not that the guy didn’t deserve it for continuing to push after Riza told him no the first time, but perhaps he didn’t need to intervene. He definitely wouldn’t have done it for anyone else. It’s been gnawing at him all day. 

“I was just being helpful,” Roy argues again, his cheeks turning bright red.

“I think threatening to light the poor guy on fire for creeping on ‘your’ lieutenant is a little more than helpful, Roy.”

“She clearly wasn’t interested- he just wasn’t getting the hint. It’s not like he was respectfully asking her to dinner- he was ogling her all night like a creep and the way he spoke to her was deplorable. Plus, I was drunk.”

“You were not drunk, you hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol at that point. And if he was really bothering her, she would’ve shot at him.”

“She shouldn’t have to do that,” Roy sighs, holding his head in his hands.

“You clearly want to take care of her,” Maes continues, standing up from the desk he’s sat at and walking towards Roy. “And if the way you fake being drunk to make her take you home every time we hit the bar is anything to go by, you want her to take care of you, too.”

He doesn’t like where this conversation is going. Doesn’t like that Maes has clearly seen through his ‘drunk’ act. Has Riza noticed, too? The thought terrifies him as he gets up and paces around the room, trying to find things to keep himself busy with to no avail. 

“I don’t fake being drunk. We all know I have a bit of an alcohol problem.”

“You know what else I know?” Maes walks up to him now, standing right in front of his shorter frame and crossing his arms over his chest. “That it takes you five shots to get drunk, not the two that you limit yourself to when we go out with her.”

“I’m not having this argument with you, Maes,” Roy sighs, pushing past the man so he can go straighten the already-straight books on the bookshelf. So he’s been caught. Hopefully Riza doesn’t know. And hopefully Maes stops prying. “You’re reading too much into things, as always.”

“Well, whatever. But I’m totally talking about this interaction in my best man speech when the two of you get married… Eventually. Hell, I may be dead by the time you decide to man up and confess,” The words make Roy frown, and he thinks to speak up to scold Maes for saying so morbid, but before he can, the other man is grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. “I’ve gotta get home and make dinner.”

“Yeah, alright. See you later,” Roy sighs as the ramifications of this conversation run through his head. The last thing he needs is for anyone else to find out about this. “Wait. Maes?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Don’t tell anyone about this conversation.”

“Aw, what? It’s relevant to the betting pool!”

“The fucking what?”

“Never mind! Bye!”

With that, Maes is rushing out the door.

And Roy? He stands there, stunned, heart hammering, mind racing.

Because damn it, Maes Hughes is right, just like he’s right about everything. Because the idea, the feeling, the truth- it all finally clicks into place.

He’s in love with his lieutenant, Riza Hawkeye. 

~

Days pass. Roy doesn’t know what to do with his feelings, so for now, he doesn’t do anything. He shoves them down to the best of his ability, ignores them, and acts like things are normal between him and his lieutenant. Her behavior hasn’t changed, so either she has no idea or she knew all along. Roy doesn’t know which is worse. Like most things regarding Riza these days, he doesn’t want to think about it. 

They’re out again, at a different bar this time. They tend to bar hop often. Their entire team is with them, and Ross and Brosh have even come along. Armstrong is with them, too, parading his subordinates around the bar and giving them tips to flirt ‘that have been passed through the Armstrong family line for generations’- whatever that means. 

But all Roy can focus on is Riza. She’s sitting next to him, as always, facing the room with a club soda in hand. He’s sitting next to her with two empty shot glasses in front of him. The bartender had offered another, but Riza had refused for him, citing his blushing face as a clear indication that he was already more than drunk. 

If only she knew. 

It seems that they’re both tired, because they don’t drag things out like they tend to. After an hour of being there, Riza loops an arm underneath his and guides him out of the dimly lit bar.

Once they’re in the car, Roy lets his head rest against the cool glass of the passenger-side window, letting out a tired sigh. The city streets pass by in a blur of pale lights and dark shopfronts. The warmth of Riza’s presence beside him, as always, is both a comfort and a torment.

Tonight, though, something is different. 

She’s too quiet.

And they’re usually quiet when they’re alone like this, but the silence that consumes the car tonight as she drives is tense. The air between them is heavy.

About halfway to his house, she speaks. 

“I know you’re not drunk. You can stop,” She says, and Roy doesn’t respond at first, too overwhelmed. Has he really been that obvious? Has she known the whole time? Or did she only figure it out tonight? What could he have possibly done to tip her off? “Seriously. I’m not stupid.”

“Alright, then,” Roy stiffens, sitting up straight and crossing his arms over his chest. He refuses to open his eyes, too terrified to look at her and see the expression that’s on her face. “Guess I’ve been caught.”

“Damn right you have,” Riza responds, and there’s an edge to her voice that cuts deeper than the initial accusation did.

He can’t tell what it is. Anger, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s scary, so he decides to lie. 

“So what? I’ve been exaggerating a bit so I don’t have to drive home,” He grumbles as he tries his best to ignore the horrible pounding of his heart against his ribs and the compounding anxiety-induced nausea that has bile threatening to surface in his throat. “I’ve done worse.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Silence again. Roy wills himself to force his eyes open so he can look at her. Her hands remain steady on the wheel. He expects her face to be tense, drawn tight with righteous fury, but instead she’s… Sad. Blinking rapidly, trying to keep tears from welling up in her honey-hued eyes. Struggling to suppress a frown. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks. 

“I wish you’d just admit that you want to spend more time with me,” Riza admits, her voice so quiet that Roy almost struggles to decipher the words. “And I wish you’d admit that you…”

“That I what?”

“That you want me.”

Roy doesn’t know what to do now. He could try to deceive her again, though that didn’t seem to work the first time. He could play it off, turn it into a joke, flash a grin and act like it had all been some sort of fucked up game. But the weight in her voice, the way she’s looking at him with such sorrowful eyes when she pulls up at a stop, tells him that none of that will work. Not this time. 

“So what?” He asks, to which Riza raises an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“What if I told you that I did want you? What would you say?”

“Sir-”

“Forgive me for asking,” Roy shakes his head. This was foolish. Part of him wonders if he should’ve just doubled down on the lie. If he’d tried hard enough, if she would’ve forgotten about this entire thing. “If this goes… Poorly, we can go back to pretending I’m drunk.”

“No. I’m tired of pretending.”

“So…” Roy starts, drumming his fingers against the door handle. “How long have I been embarrassing myself for?”

“I figured it out after I skipped one of the team’s outings to spend time with Black Hayate,” Riza explains. “Maybe after the second or third time? I called Havoc to make sure he took you home like I’d asked, only for him to say you were able to drive yourself home. I put together rather quickly that you would only get ‘drunk’ enough to need an escort when I was there.”

And Roy is embarrassed. So, so embarrassed that he’s been doing this for god knows how long, and she’s known pretty much the entire time. He’s been making a full of himself, and worst of all, he’s been hurting her. He can tell just by the sorrow that drips from every word she says. 

“So you’ve known for a while.”

“Sure, but… I would’ve figured it out eventually. You have tells. I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m sorry.”

Riza parks the car and turns to face him. 

“I don’t know why you thought you had to lie to me. You could have asked. I would’ve said yes,” Riza turns off the ignition, shoving her keys in the pocket of her coat but still holding his gaze. Roy is so humiliated that he doesn’t want to meet her eyes, but he also can’t bring himself to look away. Her admission feels like pure relief, he should be happy- and he is- but most of all, he feels guilty for dragging this out for so long. “I would have spent the time with you if you had just asked, Roy. And it makes me wonder… Are you ashamed?”

Roy raises an eyebrow at that. He’s ashamed of a lot of things; himself, the things they’ve done, the people he’s killed, the way he’s had to carry himself to advance in his military career, the scars he’s left on people- on Riza- along the way. 

“Of what?”

“Of your feelings for me.”

“No, it’s not that,” Roy whispers, shaking his head. “It’s never been that.”

“Then why?”

“Because I didn’t want to put myself in a position where you could reject me like you reject everyone else,” The answer is followed by a sharp exhale as he runs a hand through his tousled raven locks. “Because I didn’t want to ask for something I wasn’t sure I deserved.”

The silence stretches between them again, thick with the tension that’s been building for years; with the thousands of words left unsaid.

“You’re not like everyone else,” Riza sighs. “I would’ve said yes to you.”

“I asked the other night and you left anyway,” Roy argues, to which Riza glares back at him.

“I said no because you were doing it under the pretense that you were drunk. I’m not going to be vulnerable in front of you by saying yes when you won’t give me the same respect.”

“Will you spend the night with me this time, Riza? Everything’s on the table now, isn’t it?” Roy questions, and when she looks back at him with uncertainty, he continues- desperate to get her to stay after waiting for so long. “We can lie. Say that I drank so much that I made myself sick, and you just stayed to take care of me.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” Riza leans in, caressing his face with one hand and leaning in to press a soft kiss against Roy’s lips. When she pulls away, she’s smiling, her cheeks dusted bright red, and Roy swears he’s never been so happy. “Let’s go inside.”

[joelalorian]

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Nine

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 3212 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Cursing. Video voyeurism. Riding Dave in an office chair. Secret spy shit. More mentions of McCall.

Series Masterlist

“The guys are gonna be here soon,” Dave said before pressing one last kiss to your lips. After yesterday, he was more delicate with you, not wanting to see that lancing hurt flash across your face again. He swore to himself to tell you what he could when he could. “Promise me you’ll stay down here until I text you.”

He knew you didn’t like it, but he tried his best to keep you out of this mess.

“Can I at least say hi when they get here?” you questioned. Dave relented, soaking in the smile that spread across your pretty lips. “Ok. I have some jobs I want to apply to. That will keep me occupied while you boys talk about secret spy shit.”

Swatting your ass playfully and admiring the resultant jiggle of the bare skin, Dave laughed. “Come on, Firecracker. Best get dressed before they arrive.” He slid from your bed, pulling on the jeans and sweater you’d peeled from his body an hour ago after dropping the girls off at school.

He smirked when he caught you staring as he dressed, and it gave him an idea. “Remind me to show you something later.”

You perked up at that, sliding across the bed to steal another kiss. “Oh, what is it?”

“Patience. I’ll show you later. I think it’s something you’ll enjoy,” Dave replied before helping you get dressed. The pair of you had a hard time keeping your hands off each other since yesterday.

Insatiable. That’s the word for it. You were both insatiable.

The doorbell rang as you reached the top of the stairs, and you went to answer it with Ranger dancing at your heels while Dave set up in the living room. He heard you greet the guys, your laughter carrying down the hall when Resnik attempted to flirt with you. He couldn’t blame the guy for trying but smirked to himself when Ranger growled at the man. Good dog.

“Well, you boys have fun! I’ll be down in the basement if you need me, Dave.” He mouthed a silent thanks, lips curling in a lopsided smile as you sauntered down the hall. He hated to see you go but loved to watch you walk away. The way your hips and ass swayed always got his blood flowing.

“How did you get so lucky, York?” Resnik asked, his eyes lingering on your ass just as intently as Dave’s were.

Dave grunted in response, his demeanor shifting to pure focus. “Let’s get to work.”

Resnik sat cross-legged on the living room floor, his laptop balanced on his knees. Ari and Kovac flanked the coffee table, papers spread out in front of them – notes on Anna, McCall, and the tangled web of the operation.

Dave paced the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “What do you have so far?”

Resnik tapped a few keys, his brows knitting together. “We’ve been cross-referencing the message encryption with known protocols. This type of tech is used by high-level operators, typical military and spy shit that could point to either McCall or Anna’s people.”

“So, what’s the smoking gun?” Dave asked, pausing mid-step.

“Patience,” Resnik muttered, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “I’m still searching for a fingerprint.”

Ari sifted through a stack of photos, laying them out on the table. “McCall’s been off the radar even after returning from the dead, as we know. The timing of these texts is too convenient. He’s got the motive – if he’s working with the Russians, this op threatens whatever deal he’s trying to make.”

“Anna has the motive, too,” Kovac countered. “If she suspects you’re not what you seem, she could be baiting you. Testing your reactions.”

Dave huffed, his index finger tapping at his bottom lip in thought. “We’re just talking in circles again. I need something that definitively points to one of them.”

Resnik suddenly leaned forward, eyes narrowing toward his laptop screen. “Got something.”

The room fell silent as the team gathered around the laptop he placed on the coffee table. Pointing to a line of code on the screen, Resnik explained. “The message originated from a ghost server linked to a military contractor – a company McCall was known to consult during his DIA days.”

“Not exactly a smoking gun. Anna could still be involved,” Ari said, his tone cautious.

“True, but this is McCall’s style,” Resnik replied. “The encryption is layered, designed to misdirect. It’s like he’s daring us to figure it out.”

Kovac crossed his arms with a grim expression. “So, he’s playin’ games.”

“Games or a warning,” Dave added, his jaw tightening until pain lanced through his head. He could feel a migraine threatening.

Ari glanced at the laptop, then back at Dave. “Either way, it’s about as much confirmation as we’re likely to get. McCall’s in this. And if he’s watching you, he’s a step ahead.”

Dave’s eyes grew cold, and distant, as he thought through his next move. “Not for long. We need to push harder. If McCall’s involved, he’s definitely the asset working with Anna and Roger. I need to force their hand and put an end to this shit now.”

The other three men exchanged glances. “You force their hand, and you’re exposing yourself. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Resnik asked, his head tilting as he darted his eyes toward the basement.

Dave’s expression darkened. No, he was not fucking ready but what choice did he have. He needed this shit over with already. He was tired of all the bullshit, lies, and subterfuge. He didn’t want to lie to you anymore. He wanted you to know all of him.

“I don’t have a fucking choice. The longer this drags on, the more danger we’re in – that my family is in.”

Kovac understood. He had a wife and kids. He knew the pressure Dave was under. “So, what’s the move?”

“Roger’s been hinting at a big meeting,” Dave said. “He’s careful – never named names, keeps the details vague. But if McCall’s the one pulling the strings, he’ll want to make an appearance sooner or later.”

“Betting a lot on that ‘sooner’, don’t you think?” Ari questioned with a raised brow. Dave ignored him, focused on sending Roger a text insisting on a meeting ASAP.

“There, now let’s plan our strategy,” Dave said with finality.

Long after the girls and your mom went to bed, you and Dave lounged on the couch in the basement. The two of you chatted for hours, a rom-com movie playing on the television but neither of you paid it any mind. You loved hearing stories from his youth and the rare ones he’d share about his military days. Alternatively, his eyes lit up when you told him more about your life. More often than not, he steered the conversation back to you when you closed in on things he couldn’t share.

“You mentioned searching for jobs earlier,” Dave said during a lull in conversation. He turned to lean back against the arm of the couch, pulling you with him as he stretched out across the cushions. “Did you find anything?”

“A few remote options, but nothing special,” you replied with a sigh. “I’m not hurting for money, but I also don’t want to freeload off you.”

Strong arms wrapped tighter around you as Dave pressed his lips to the crown of your head. “You’re not freeloading, I promise. Don’t rush back into something you won’t find fulfillment in.”

You hummed in response, feeling like a burden no matter what he said. You both fell quiet for a while, watching the movie without really paying attention. When he finally spoke again, you felt more than heard the rumble of his voice with your head lying against his chest.

“I think I may leave the agency after this case.”

Your head lifted at that admission; your eyes wide with surprise as you met his earnest gaze. “Why would you do that?”

“I’ve spent my entire adulthood fighting battles for others, doing any number of things I never dreamed I’d have to do as a kid.” He paused, his chest rising as he took a deep breath. “I’m tired. The danger isn’t as thrilling as it used to be. Now it’s just exhausting.”

You nodded, but stayed quiet, not knowing what to say.

“With the girls having already lost their mom, I’m terrified of failing them by not coming home one day. As you know, I can’t say much about this operation, but I can tell you it’s becoming more complicated and dangerous than we accounted for. It’s making me rethink things.”

Dave’s voice had turned softer and more uncertain than you’d ever heard before, the underlying fear pulling at your heart. Shifting so that you laid atop him, chest to chest, your fingers danced along the strong lines of his face as you stared into his warm chocolate eyes.

“What would you do instead?”

His arms tightened around you as he gave it some thought. “The boys and I used to talk about starting our own security consulting business. We could put our real-world experience to good use without doing the dirty work ourselves.”

A soft smile spread across your lips at the thoughtful gleam in his eyes. “You’d be good at that, I imagine.”

He hummed in response and pressed his lips against your forehead. “I’d make more money in the private sector, too. Could buy an even bigger house,” he joked.

“Do they make houses bigger than this?” you teased, loving how his eyes sparkled. Happiness was a good look on him.

Soon, the soft look in Dave’s eyes turned heated and the two of you came together like magnets, all lips and tongues as you licked into each other’s mouths. You loved how he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough of your taste, your touch. His hands caressed your curves as you lay atop him until settling firmly on the plumpness of your dimpled ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulled you down against the hardness growing beneath you.

Too soon for your liking, Dave eased back leaving you gasping for breath. “Get up for a sec. I want to show you something.”

You eased off of him, his large hands helping to steady you as you stood on shaky legs. Grasping your hand once he stood, Dave led you to his office. In seconds, he unlocked the door, eased you through it, and relocked it behind him. “Come on,” he murmured as he sat in the large, leather desk chair, pulling you down onto his lap.

Facing the desk with your back pressed to Dave’s firm chest, your interest was piqued when the monitor turned on. Two rows of video footage from cameras you never knew were there played onscreen, showing all angles of the house and perimeter of the property.

“You record everything?” you questioned warily, heat rushing up your neck as you remembered that night in the yard, the one where you touched yourself as you watched him in the hot tub. Did he know? Had he watched the footage? Fuck, what else did he see? Were there cameras in the house, too?

“Everything outside, but nothing inside. Except for this office,” Dave’s voice rumbled behind you, hot breath sending a ripple of gooseflesh cascading down your neck. “Can’t be too careful in my line of work.”

There was something in his voice – a knowing, teasing lilt – that had your thighs clenching. Oh, he definitely knew what you’d done. The thought was thrilling as much as it embarrassed you. Did he enjoy what he saw, you wondered.

As if reading your mind, Dave clicked the mouse, video of that night taking up the entire monitor screen. You watched yourself walk through the gate along the side of the house, stopping at the corner. The view switched to another camera, one with a better angle.

The video quality was high definition, with small details visible even in the low lighting. Heat rushed through your cheeks – and elsewhere – as you watched yourself spy on Dave. You’d never experienced this before, watching yourself on video like this. It was simultaneously hot and fucking weird.

Dave’s hands roamed your hips as you watched, toying with the waistband of your pajama pants until one hand slipped under the material. His movements were timed perfectly with the ones onscreen, and he worked your nub with the same urgency as you did that night. His fingers felt like heaven, plucking and rubbing and teasing until you panted desperately in his lap.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned when Dave slipped two fingers inside you, thumb pressing against your clit.

“Come for me, kitten,” he commanded, voice raspy in your ear, his fingers moving faster, harder.

And, oh boy, did you fucking come.

You were still a trembling mess when Dave shifted, sliding the pants from your body and easing his sweatpants down his hips until the fullness of his cock pressed against your bare skin. Another shift had his cock nudging insistently at your dripping cunt, ready to fill you.

The video changed to a different view – this one showing Dave in the foreground – and you moaned at the sight of him with his head tilted back in pleasure. He slid inside you then, pulling a gasp from your lungs as he fucked into you.

You could only clutch at the desk, the armrests, his knees, whatever you could reach as he fucked you, panting and keening at the pleasure he wrought from your body.

“You like watching me, huh?” Dave asked, the question ending in a grunt as your pussy clenched around him.

“Yeah,” you whispered, bereft of the breath needed for more sound.

“Me, too,” he admitted. “I came in this very chair watching this recording. You looked so beautiful being naughty, spying on me, and touching this pretty little pussy while you did.”

The picture he painted had you on the verge of coming again, babbling nonsense as he continued working your body with finesse.

“That’s it, my sexy little firecracker,” Dave encouraged, voice tight as he, too, neared the edge. “Come for me.”

You did, like a Pavlovian response. Dave followed you, filling you to the brim with cum, your pussy so full it dribbled out around his cock.

“Fuck,” you breathed, falling backward against his chest in a boneless heap, his chuckle rustling your sweat-damp hair.

When the tremors settled and you both found your breath again, Dave led you to your room.

“Stay with me?” you whispered in the dark, grasping needily at his hand.

“Of course,” Dave rumbled in response as he climbed into bed with you.

In the back of your mind, you wondered how he explained these nights when he didn’t sleep in their room, to your mom. The thought dissipated as soon as his arms wrapped around you, pulling your body snugly against his.

 Once again, you ignored all those niggling thoughts about unanswered questions like you always did when you were with Dave, unwilling to consider the alternative – of not being with him at all.

The meeting was set at a private country club, nestled just outside town. The sprawling grounds were pristine, the kind of place where power brokers gathered under the guise of leisure. This is what made it perfect for what Roger and Anna had planned: a meeting that appeared casual and was anything but.

Dave arrived early, dressed in a tailored suit to play the part, the fit snug enough to hint at his lithe build. He exuded confidence, every step calculated. The guys had already taken up their positions – Ari was stationed in the parking lot with a listening device rigged to a long-range microphone, Resnik hacked the club’s security cameras on a tablet while posing as an employee, and Kovac was stationed inside as a club guest, ready to provide backup if things went south.

The dining room, where the meeting was to take place, overlooked the golf course. Massive windows framing the normally lush green of the course showcased a sea of snow-covered ground while soft classical music played in the background.

Dave spotted Roger at a table near a window, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. Anna sat beside him; her red lips curved into a faint smile as her fingers toyed with the rim of her glass.

“York,” Roger called out as Dave approached. “We wondered when you’d show up.”

“Traffic again?” Anna sassed, green eyes raking in the cut of his suit.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said by way of greeting, easing into the open seat at the table.

Anna’s brows arched delicately. “Oh?”

Dave’s expression darkened, his voice dropping as he leaned forward. “I’m getting messages. Anonymous, encrypted, and very specific. Someone’s watching me.”

Roger’s grin faltered, his fingers tightening around his highball glass. “That’s… unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” Dave’s voice sharpened, the edge cutting through the room. “If someone’s leaking information, this whole operation is compromised.”

Anna tilted her head, her smile never wavering as one delicate hand twirled the cocktail straw in her drink. “And you think it’s one of us?”

He didn’t like how calmly, nonchalantly she was handling this information. “I think it’s someone close to you,” Dave countered, his eyes narrowing. “If this deal is as important as you’ve made it out to be, you need to clean house. Fast.”

Roger shifted uncomfortably, his arrogant façade slipping as his gaze darted to Anna. “We’ve been careful. No one outside our circle knows the details.”

“Then explain these texts,” Dave pressed, pulling his phone from his pocket and sliding it across the table. The screen displayed the cryptic messages, beginning with the first: I know what you’re hiding.

Anna’s smile faltered for the first time, her eyes flicking from the phone to Roger and back. “This could be anyone,” she hedged.

“Could it?” Dave challenged; brow quirked as he leaned forward. “You want me to trust you and your ‘mutual friend’? Fine. But I need to meet him. Now.”

Roger hesitated, his eyes flicking nervously to Anna. A silent exchange passed between the two.

“It’s not that simple,” Anna finally admitted, her voice tight.

“Make it simple,” Dave snapped. He was in no mood for arguments. It was time to put an end to this shit.

After several minutes of tense silence, Roger finally sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll talk to him. But you’d better be ready to prove yourself.”

“I’m always ready,” Dave replied coldly, the former assassin in him ready to come out to play.

Anna leaned back, her predatory smile returning. “I’ll make the arrangements. But if you’re as good as they say, Mr. York, this won’t be a problem.”

Dave pocketed his phone, inwardly satisfied yet his outward expression remained unreadable. “Just tell your friend to show up. I’ll handle the rest.”

Dave’s heart pounded heavily in his chest as he exited the club. The trap was set, but with the danger of McCall being involved, the game was only beginning.

His earpiece buzzed to life and Ari’s voice came through. “Nice work, boss.”

Dave exhaled slowly, his mind already racing ahead. “Now let’s see if McCall takes the bait.”

tbc

Chapter Ten

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69 @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @inept-the-magnificent @wannab-urs @thundermartini @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @sunnytuliptime @vie-is-punk

[laseracronym]

Jealousy, Jealousy (MHA/Fem!Reader)

Summary: Where you're not jealous. Definitely not. (MHA characters reacting to their girlfriend getting jealous. Part 1?)

Characters: Dabi, Aizawa

Content: Jealousy. Violence and Unhinged!Reader in the Dabi one.

MHA-MHA-MHA

Dabi

You stalked out of the bar, leaving behind the chaos you just caused.

Cold rage coursed through your veins, your pulse pounding in your throat. You could still see that woman's hands all over Dabi, hear the sweet words she was whispering in his ear. That stupid look on her face, the confidence she had that she would be able to take what was yours.

She's lucky all you gave her was a few broken bones.

A hand caught your wrist and you reacted quickly, spinning around drawing on your quirk, ready to strike.

"Take it easy, Angel," Dabi's grinning face, full of twisted amusement, both calmed and paradoxically infuriated you. "It's just me."

You scoffed, the sound a cobra's hiss, and let up on your quirk. You straightened up and pulled away from his grasp in favor of crossing your arms. You'd left him behind when you stormed out, eager to get out before you truly lost control.

He chuckled at your behavior, at the anger still radiating off of you. He was undaunted by it, moving closer, fingers skating along your upper arms. "What was that about, pretty girl? Feeling jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," you spun away from him and began walking again, his skulking footsteps following you. "I just don't tolerate anyone disrespecting me to my face."

"Sure, sure," he obviously didn't buy it.

"Don't piss me off," you snapped, walking faster, "you weren't exactly discouraging the attention, you know."

"And miss out on the show?" you were spun around to face him again and he pushed you up against a wall. His eyes pierced you, his voice a pleasant purr, "not a chance."

You tried to hold onto your anger, but a new kind of heat burned through you at the look on his face, the feeling of his hand running up your side. He nuzzled into your neck, his tongue dragging along your skin and making you shiver.

"Do you know how fucking sexy you looked? Raging like that, all over little old me," he grabbed a handful of your hair, tilting your head back so he could gain better access to your neck. "Vicious girl..."

Your eyelids fluttered and you gripped his shoulders tight as he began to bite and suck at your neck. Possessive lust hazed over your mind and you pulled him closer.

Dabi was yours, and you'd tear apart anyone who dared to try and take him from you.

Aizawa

It was stupid.

You were a grown woman, well beyond the age of petty bouts of jealousy-

And yet.

Sometimes, seeing Shouta's friends, like Miss Joke and Midnight, playfully flirt with him in the way that they did...

It got to you.

And you hated it. Because you knew they were just joking, knew they had no interest in Shouta. And Shouta never entertained their jokes at all, shooting them down in that stern way of his. You had nothing to worry about.

But sometimes, you could still feel the heat rise up under your collar, the tension in your jaw, the urge to tell them to knock it off sitting ready on your tongue. But you didn't. You didn't want to be that girl. You didn't want to make a big deal out of an obvious joke, be the girlfriend that was so insecure she had to bare her teeth at every woman that came near her man.

So you said nothing. But that didn't mean Shouta didn't notice something was bothering you. He knew you so well.

MHA-MHA-MHA

"What's the matter?"

You blinked, glancing over at Shouta as his voice brought you out of your thoughts. The two of you had just left after getting dinner with some of your UA colleagues and were walking home. At some point, after a few rounds of drinks, Midnight had turned her suggestive persona in Shouta's direction. You'd also had a drink or two at this point and couldn't help but leave the table, using the excuse of needing the restroom to step away and cool off for a while. The attempt to calm down didn't work, and you'd remained quiet and closed off for the rest of the evening.

"Nothing," you weren't very convincing, you knew, but you still tried. "Nothing's the matter."

"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully, not saying anything for a few minutes as you continued on your walk. But that didn't mean he was dropping the subject, "you've been quiet since Kayama started in on her antics."

Your mouth twisted into a soft grimace when he hit the nail on the head, "...she was just joking," you said, something you reassured yourself of many a time.

"She was," he agreed quietly, "but it still bothered you."

It wasn't a chastisement, merely an observation, but you still felt embarrassed. You didn't look at him, a horrid blush burning on your face as your silence answered for you.

His hand closed around yours, the familiar warmth a comforting balm to your nerves. "I'll tell her to stop. Joke, too." He really it all figured out, didn't he?

"No," you disagreed, and damn it, why was your throat tight? Why did your eyes burn? "I'm being- I'm just being childish."

"You're not being childish," slowly, Shouta stopped walking, pulling you to a stop as well. He used a gentle hand to guide you into looking up at him, and all you saw was his calm patience that you adored so much. "It's making you uncomfortable, so it's worth addressing."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, the tenderness of the action, of his words, coaxed a few tears out of you. You sniffled, nodding quietly. You still felt so embarrassed, but a part of you felt so relieved to finally have it out in the open, and to have Shouta take it seriously.

He brought you into a hug, and you pressed your face into his chest, the press of his hand resting on the back of your head grounding you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Don't be," he said reassuringly.

(Requests)

[xeversayfishxace]

Music

There is a haze, Xever listens to the rage of Bradford tries to listen as his blood is splattered everywhere but all Xever does is laugh. He is laughing so hard at all of the words coming out of this dog's mouth. Yeah, Xever had been right. He had been right all along. This person at his very core, was just as spiteful, just as terrible, just as uncaring. They may come from opposite sides of the world, opposite sides of society, opposite sides of wealth, yet at the center they were just empty shells with only the smallest thing to cling to. Someone so isolated that they were left to stew in those terrible emotions for years on end with no one reaching out a hand to them.

"Ha...ha...ha...there is none...I know what I am...and now I finally get to see you too. You tried to hide it...you tried to deny it...but deep down...you and I...we're the same. What if you had died then? Would I have cared? Nope! Because why the fuck would I? No one cared about me...no one ever cared about me...and no one cared about you either. Not the real you...just the you they wanted to see..."

Xever was shaking, obviously part of him is scared right now. Yet, he is smiling so strongly looking towards the man who took everything from him because in this moment he won. He got to see that side the bastard locked up tighter than Fort Knox. He got to wear Raz down to the point where that true self was coming out for the first time. So, why not show his real side too? That was what Xever wanted deep down. That was the real reason he was doing this, always had been.

"You had Shredder sure...but look what his care has become now...he treats you like an abused child...while you just stand there and take it. A man like that could never give you what you truly wanted...hell the man is so obsessed with revenge on that rat that he'd watch the whole world burn. Haha...its so funny you call me a rat...god it's so funny...I can't help but laugh...I am a joke too...just like you..."

He's hurt more and more, he is struggling to hold it together. Tears come out from his eyes as he talks the smile never leaves, but the fishman is crying now. Because it is all so funny. Their lives are a creul joke, a joke where the punchline is their very existance. No one could write content like this, because it was so ironic that it hurt.

"I had someone once too...someone I clinged to...someone I put my all for...he was my brother...not my real brother...but he was there for me when no one else was. I pushed myself so hard for him...I made myself into a person I never would have become if not for him. I spent years with him, I went on heists with him...he was my whole world...nothing could ever hurt me so long as he needed me. But, do you know what happened? I made one mistake...one small mistake...and he turned on me...threw out all those years like they were nothing. How was I supposed to react to that? Hahahaha...nope...I just laughed...laughed at how stupid I was..."

As the shadow grows closer and closer Xever's head lulls backwards as he keeps looking into the yellow eyes of the dog of many faces. Chris Bradford, Dogpound and now Rahzar. A man can wear so many faces yet can only ever had only one that was real. The fish kept gripping onto the real face. He wasn't letting it go now that he had it.

"What you hated about me...is plain to see...because no one hates us more than we hate ourselves. Because why wouldn't we? We can lie...we can pretend...we can mush it up as much as we like...but...we are our own worst critics...you still blame yourself don't you? Even now, you still think it deep down...you try to cover it...but you do blame yourself the most...because I do...you are going through what I did with Rajan...and I...can't help but think wow...that's so funny..."

Xever struggled to hold on, he was hanging on so much. And it showed how much effort he was putting into it. He shook his head back and forth the pain was getting to his head now. Yet, still Xever still kept on talking despite how much he has trouble continuing.

"So...you can go ahead and kill me...like you no doubt have wanted to all this time. Kill me for baring your true self to the world...kill me...for always throwing back anything you threw at me. But, I want you to know this Chris Bradford, Dogpound, or Rahzar that if you do that...then you'll lose the only person in the whole damn world who could grow to care about the real you. I admit I am a bastard, I am a heartless bastard...but...when I see you...when I see myself in you...its like looking into a mirror. And at somepoint...you get sick of beating yourself up. You don't have to prove anything to me...you don't have to be your best...you don't have to be a mindless dog...you can just be you...and I will accept you...we might suck right now...but if we suck together we might not be as bad anymore...I am so tired...of being...me all by myself...so if you're there too...then it might be fun..."

That does it.

It’s almost like something sparked within the beast, as if a certain feral bloodlust was awakened. A few of his ‘rah’s’ escaped his throat, the ones that gave him the nickname Rahzar in the first place. A snarl and razor sharp teeth were revealed.

“Listen here, you little trout - You really want to talk to me about not earning anything?  About how everything is just handed to me? A lowlife like you?"

Rahzar was attempting to bend his arm further, putting an immense pressure on it in that moment. Yep, someone unleashed the beast and he lost control of himself. Xever certainly was getting what he wanted now.

“You only survived because of dumb luck and nothing more. I worked my whole life to get to the top! You spend your whole life rotting on the streets and taking things that did not belong to you. You got lucky that Master Shredder offered you a place in our clan, you got lucky that you did not end up dead after you turned into a fish and you got lucky I found Stinkman in the first place.”

His snarls were becoming more sinister and he is currently attempting to push the fish more into the ground.

“You are nothing. You will never know a life of high expectations. You will never know what it is like when people are only with you for who you are at your best! When everyone around you wants you to be at your best all the time and go even beyond that too because anything less than that is not acceptable. Nobody could care about someone like you! You only showed up here because you foolishly got caught stealing Master Shredder's briefcase and then did some of the dirty work for us - I was his greatest student! He wanted me to be one of his successors, I spend years training while you just showed up one day! You think Master Shredder just handed me this position?!”

Although suddenly - a few more loud ‘rah’s echoed through the night air, not necessary because Xever was attempting to strangle him back (and he did try and push his head away as best as he could) but because of his frustration over that last sentence - so instead the wolf lifted his foot in an attempt to kick the fish away and send him fyling - regardless of what would happen, there seemed to be no signs of Rahzar stopping his attacks.

“Don’t you dare whine about how my actions would have killed you when you did the SAME TO ME.”

Oh boy, he sure snapped there. Rahzar was referring to what happened on that roof one night.

“You expect me to care for what happened to you? For nearly suffocating that night and then living inside a tank for a while? You want me to feel bad for that? You really expect me to care after you couldn’t be bothered to do the same?”

Another ‘rah’ and his shadow is looming closer over Xever. So what if it had been a bluff at the time? In his panic he did not realize that. Maybe it couldn’t have been a bluff either. Nobody could be so sure of that when you are already dangling half from the roof and the worst part (aside from the humiliation of being stuck inside a trash can) was that his fate was up to the man who couldn’t care less about him and who would have gladly let him die with a smile.

“You know why I pushed away? Because you are nothing more than that: A dirty little rat and this proved it back then. I don’t work with others because the only person you can ever rely on is yourself!”

He was not sure where all that anger suddenly comes from but it’s there - and he cannot stop.

“After what happened back then, it felt satisfying. You were trapped, your life was up in the hands of others and there was nothing you could do about it! You were vulnerable, humiliated - It was so fitting and served you right that I had to make fun of your predicament like you did with mine.”

It seems like he is just snarling at this point.

"Go on - give me ONE good reason why I should care that you would've died that day."

[impostorsshow]

buddy i dont think you get your situation here [i got him out but he's spending time in the corner because that was not my fault /j]

also update i think leo is proving to me why i need a new prescription because his face is blurrier on the right side of the screen than the left when im trying to make him cry [and its not working]

if he's sad now how do i make him depressed. how do i make him into this fucking cat

if i was an ao3 writer and my partner was capable of writing anything than its own oc's then this little leo would be fucking dead [im not implying you would like tmnt dw love im just implying i would bully you <3]

[i1k]

gojo hates condoms ☆

not even in an ‘i can’t feel a thing’ frat-fuck way either. he just wants to be close to you. he’s touch starved as it is and being inside of you is quite literally the closet he can be to you. why would he want a barrier between his achy length and your silken walls?

he hates condoms. hates them like they’re pointing south on his moral compass. hates them like they hurt to use—which they do, in a way—the mental anguish feels real to him, at least. he picks up a fuss in the grocery store when you pull a pack of ribbed condoms from the shelf to try because why would you seek pleasure from artificial ridges when the protruding veins of his cock would feel just as good if not dressed in a condom?

sometimes he eats you out for twice as long as usual to get you really fucked out and dumb. he’ll make you cum hard and fast and so much that your mind is a mess in the hopes that you’ll forget all about your safety precautions and let him feel you from the inside out. but you always catch on. with a tsk and a finger pointed to the draw where he keeps the horrid things out of sight.

so when you let him fuck you raw for the first time, gojo is reeling. it’s on the condition that he promises to pull out, and promise he does—with a pinky finger hooked around yours and his lips to his thumb—he promises to pull out.

he decides on missionary, because as much as he loves the hundred different positions he knows how to wrangle you into, he wants to connect with you. to make love, not fuck.

and even your wetness against his tip is enough to jolt his stomach downwards. collecting your glossing over his angry head as he rubs himself up and down your folds—he would cum just like this if he wasn’t so stuck on feeling all of you. you’re warm and wet and tight as he pushes against your entrance and oh god he’s going to cum already.

“oh,” he stills, eyes deadset on yours as he slides into you. his tip is rubbing against that spot that makes your back arch upwards and it takes everything in you not to laugh at the distraught look on his face as he says “i have to pull out.”

“you’re joking, right?”

“i really wish i was baby,” he looks pained. he’s never felt something so heavenly and ungodly at the same time. he wants to do bad things, to fuck you into the mattress and breed you full of himself until you’re too weak to care about the aftermath of such recklessness. “i can’t pull out.”

“what?” you laugh, his balls tighten at the sound.

“if i move—” satoru has never looked so serious, “—i will cum. this was a bad idea. why would you let me do this?”

“you’re the one always—”

“actually don’t argue with me, you know what it does to me.” he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on anything other then the way you feel around him. he does math in his head, thinks about the people he’s killed, how much he loves you… how pretty you look right now… growing old with you.

“i swear you’re getting harder inside of—”

“imsorryiloveyoubutpleasebequietorelseyouaregoingtogetpregnant.”

it takes him a minute of mental gymnastics to feel confident enough to start slowly sliding out of you, but all hope dies when the heel of your foot presses against his ass and with a smile made of sin you pull him deeper inside of you.

he opens his mouth to protest, to tell you he is not joking and all that comes out is a beautiful strangled moan that makes you tighten around him. for a man who claims to be the strongest he is rather weak-willed when it comes to your pussy. he needs to cum so hard that it hurts, but a fear of maybe ruining your life and relationship digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

“don’t do this to me,” he whines.

but you’re smiling. you’re so tight and wet and beautiful and everything he’s ever dreamt of having and holding and you’re smiling. “satoru,” you say, and he’s weak. “cum inside.”

anything for you. it’s gorgeous: the way he lets loose, falling forward to press all his weight into you as he groans and his balls release in hot spurts that you can feel painting your insides white. it’s the connection, the intimacy, the tears that prick at his eyes.

and he doesn’t pull out. no, he presses his hips forward to fuck his cum as deep into you as he possibly can and he vows to throw out every condom in the goddamn house.

god he hates condoms.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighborly

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: Implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

You didn’t know hate until Johnny MacTavish.

He bought the only house within half a mile, the one you expected to stay silent and empty ‘til death did you part. So, you had reason to dislike him from the start. But you were raised right, and you pushed down the snarling hermit in your soul to be a good, friendly neighbor.

The first meeting was fine, even if he was a boombox of a human being.

“Neighbor? Oh, aye! The hermit? Sorry. Heard about you when I toured the place last month.” His eye lands on the plate of cookies you’ve brought to welcome him. “Those all for me?”

You made small talk at the door, swapped names, and set the groundwork for a reliable, limited relationship as polite people who just happened to live in close proximity.

Then the first snow fell.

You spied him outside, shoveling the shared drive that led up the hill. He cleared it all, which was kind, if a little stupid. The weather system promised another two inches by midafternoon, so everything would be solid white again before sunset. Still, not your problem.

But. He was shirtless. Ripped as fuck and shirtless.

As the wind flung each shovelful of snow back in his face, the powdery flakes stuck and melted on steaming skin. Muscles flexed as he made a spectacle of himself, and your thoughts turned to strategy and available resources.

You wrapped your palms around your ugly, handmade mug and sighed, sipping hot chocolate and wishing you’d gotten a neighbor with at least two scoops of common sense.

When he didn’t appear with his shovel the next morning, you knew your foreboding prophecy had come to pass.

You brought out the stock pot, fished out packs of frozen produce harvested from your garden, and sacrificed your last bag of chicken breasts. The skeleton saved from an old rotisserie bird joined the ingredient army. Might as well go all-in. A man with that many muscles needed bone broth to recover.

Since you didn’t know if he was a picky eater, you minced the garlic and onions small, even when your eyes burned to the point you had to stop for a break. You let the aromatics brown, added celery, carrots, potatoes, and fistfuls of fresh herbs. The precious seasonings survived the winter under grow lights and protective sheeting on your dining room table.

You doubted your neighbor would appreciate this gift for everything it was, but whatever he did as an idiot neighbor would be leagues better than the presence of a rowdy ghost.

When the chicken was tender and the broth tasted like home, you poured it into individual portions and packed them in a canvas bag with a loaf of bread, a box of tea, a jar of local honey, and a thermometer. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but the cold froze your fingers through your gloves. Your hand was cramping by the time MacTavish answered the door, red-nosed, pale, and bleary-eyed.

He let you in, mumbling a scratchy-voiced welcome, and if you’d known what that conversation would incite, you would’ve let him waste away like the families you failed playing Oregon Trail.

“Eat one now and keep the rest in the fridge.” You stack the single-serve containers in the fridge as you speak, sure he won’t remember the minutiae of your instructions. The last you pop in his microwave. He’s staring at you with feverish eyes, confused and helpless like a sick dog left on the side of the road.

Everything comes out of the bag, lining his counter so he can see them – and hopefully remember he has them. The thermometer comes out last.

“If your fever is over 104 in the morning, call the doctor. I’ll drive you if you need me to.”

That glassy stare isn’t shifting. The man doesn’t even blink.

“Did you get all that?”

He clears his throat. The action and sound are both strangely slow in his exhausted state, and you’re determined not to feel bad for him.

“Aye.” Finally, he blinks. “Eat the soup. Watch for 104.”

Good enough.

“Okay.”

The microwave beeps, you pull out the soup, leaving him to fetch a spoon from wherever the hell he keeps them. You don’t wait for him to show you out. “Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t call for help, and you took your turn shoveling the drive with proper protection after the last wave of flurries passed.

The next time he saw you in passing – you were returning home and he was just leaving – he let you know your soup was delicious, that the bread was amazing, and the honey did wonders for his throat. He never returned your containers.

Ah, well. They were replaceable.

Then the next snow came, and the dumb bitch went shoveling shirtless again.

It wasn’t as much snow, and it didn’t take him half as long, but you steamed, glaring from the safety of your kitchen window. You refused to replace your meal prep supplies again. And local honey was expensive. The brat could freeze and die. Something about taking a horse to water and all that shit.

You drank your coffee black that morning, just to make a point to no one in particular.

The man didn’t know how to take care of himself, and he had no idea how to winter-proof his home.

His pipes froze. You brought buckets, old towels, bottled water, and the number of an excellent plumber. Then you explained why he should pay attention to the forecast and let faucets drip to keep the water moving. You told him to open the cabinets under sinks so heat could combat the chill along exterior walls.

His truck’s battery succumbed to the cold. You gave him a jump and escorted him to town to make sure he didn’t get himself stranded.

When he didn’t keep things stocked and tried to panic-shop before a big storm, discovering that small town shelves couldn’t meet demand, you shared staples from your pantry.

He didn’t have more than two cheap blankets in his living space, so when the holidays rolled around you gave him your latest assemblage of granny-squares. And a scarf.

He gave you burnt cookies – “Biscuits” – in return.

(And a half-empty bottle of whiskey.)

He never remembered to drag his trash down to the main road.

And gods help you if the power went out, because the man had no generator, very little in his pantry, and rarely more than a quarter tank of gas in his ride.

He was careless. Clueless. Nearly helpless.

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave him to his fate. It was unneighborly and inhumane.

He made you angry. But you didn’t hate him until his friend moved in.

A few months into his residence, you went to Johnny’s door to ask if he needed anything from town before the next storm shadowed the forecast, and a stranger came to the door.

A hulking monster with a skull painted over his balaclava.

The doorway shrank around his broad shoulders, and he ducked when he stepped out. You weren’t sure if he entirely needed to, but you understood the urge – like an adult stepping out of a child’s playhouse. Scarred knuckles wrapped around the doorknob, and you knew his grip would swallow you whole by the way it engulfed the brass handle.

Animal instinct jarred you. Every hair from the base of your skull to the end of your spine stood on end as you tried to smell the air, listen to the wind, spot the predator’s intent before it was too late.

You didn’t have a problem with people balaclavas. You’d worn one the other day when you were shoveling the drive, but this looked less like protection and more like a threat.

Was he robbing your neighbor? Had a serial killer come to town? Oh, fuck.

You took a step back, reaching for your phone because you didn’t carry a weapon, especially not on a grocery run, and it was the closest thing you had to help.

“You the neighbor?”

He asked so casually, vaguely irritated, but relaxed. It wasn’t the voice of a man who’d just been caught committing a felony, and you took a second to look beyond the stranger’s mask (and size). There was a mug in his hand, and he wore a t-shirt with sweats. His socked feet lingered on the front step, just shy of the blue road salt and crisped ice. Not robbery gear. More like a… houseguest?

Your neighbor never had guests before.

It caught you so off guard your brain short circuited. He had always been a lone, helpless figure. Made sense he’d have friends, though. You couldn’t imagine he’d survive anywhere long without someone looking out for him.

You were still a little irritated that your neighbor had invited his own friend to his own house on his own property without informing you, but that was just the recluse inside snarling at a new face. Or half of one.

And – well – manners.

Holding out a mittened hand, you introduced yourself, adding, “I stopped to see if Johnny needed anyth-”

“No.” He shut you down so fast you reeled another step back. “Don’t need anything.”

He closed the door and that was that.

Sun glittered on the season’s collection of snow, a frozen fairyland that wouldn’t entirely melt until spring. Then there would be roads washed out, and mud, and you’d need to teach Johnny flash flood safety and…

It didn’t compute. Johnny was still home, so surely he’d pop out with an explanation.

You waited.

But he didn’t.

The absolute fuck?

Your spinning thoughts kept you trapped in your head for a solid minute, processing what had happened, what was implied, and what that meant for your neighborly relationship. Even when you managed to move, drive to town, and run your errands, the interaction prickled in your mind like a splinter.

You must’ve done something wrong.

Aged fluorescent lights strobed out of time with your cart’s shrieking wheels. You discovered your list wasn’t in your pocket. It waited at home, next to a pen to add Johnny’s requests. You’d already added things you doubted he’d think to ask for, and it would take time to pick apart your needs. The list wouldn’t have saved you, even if you’d remembered it.

Three bags of flour went into your cart. That was fine. They’d keep, and baking was a good way to combat cabin fever (it warmed the house as a bonus).

Two gallons of milk.

Wait.

No.

You put one back, self-conscious. A young mother with her baby stood just behind you, and an old woman was reviewing her coupons across the aisle. You refused to make eye contact, convinced you’d catch them watching. Did they see? Were they worried about your germs on the product you put back? Did they think you were too broke to buy what you needed? Maybe they thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend or something.

You counted the squares in the linoleum as you marched away from the refrigerators’ humming. One less source of white noise. It didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. The real buzzing roared inside your skull.

Johnny was a pain in the ass, but at least he was friendly. He wasn’t considerate, but he always thanked you. His friend was a whole different beast. Unfriendly. With a spare set of teeth snarling at the world.

The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself. Was he staying long? Moving in? What was he to Johnny? That question alone would answer so many others.

Because you’d never seen him interact beyond basic business with the mechanic, you realized you had no idea of his sexual orientation. Was he gay? Bi? Pan?

His shirtless shoveling shenanigans annoyed you, yes, but you’d unconsciously granted him a little leeway, assuming it had to do with misguided masculine showmanship. The rooster strutting where the hen could see. The dumbass alpha male proving he was a good, strong provider who was also quite nice to look at.

Clearly you were wrong, and in retrospect, you couldn’t see him as anything but a narcistic dipshit in need of training wheels.

You’d thought, maybe, he even liked you. As a friend? A comrade against the cold? As something.

But you were just a stop-gap. Useful.

Convenient.

Until his real friend joined him.

You found your attention unraveling like a cheap sweater. No matter how hard to you dried to darn the holes, you couldn’t keep up with the loose thread undoing all your conscious measures. It was quickly becoming one of those days when you convinced yourself your therapist had lied about everything.

When you messed up, even in your head, everyone knew.

If they didn’t say otherwise, you were annoying everyone in the room. If they did say otherwise, they were just being polite.

You weren’t likeable, not loveable, and the minute you weren’t useful you should make yourself scarce. Otherwise, things would get awkward, and no one wanted that. You could be the adult. You could hack off a limb and smile about it.

It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, it shouldn’t, because you didn’t have a right to that feeling.

Alright. Fine.

You realized, just as you joined the line for the cashier, that you’d forgotten matches and sugar. They’d been on your list. But someone joined the line behind you, and unspoken social rules that probably didn’t exist shackled you in place. Too late. You’d look stupid. You’d bother someone. Oh well. You’d just have to make another trip. Soon. But not too soon. Now there were two sets of eyes watching you from the connecting drive, and you didn’t want to give them reason to gossip and laugh and assume…

Your pile of groceries looked too small on the conveyor belt. Roughly half what they’d been lately. Would the cashier notice? You were sure she did. The way she recited your total sounded disappointed. Was she counting on you buying more? Were you hurting the employees’ holiday bonus? Shit. Fuck.

The bags felt too heavy. Too light. You forgot your reusable sacks at home, and the plastic dug guilt and accusations into the crease of your palms. On top of everything else, you were killing the planet.

You drove home.

Along the river. Through the trees. Up the hills to your corrupted sanctuary.

At least you didn’t need to make a second trip to bring in all the shopping. Your haul landed on the counter, you threw the damned milk in the fridge, and you realized, as you opened the pantry, that you already had four bags of flour. Two all-purpose, two for bread. Because you’d planned to bake for two.

The flour hadn’t been on your list.

And there was no room for it.

Your lip wobbled, and you bit it ferociously, chewing it until the texture changed and bits of skin started peeling.

It wasn’t a problem. You liked being prepared. You’d dump it in one of the emergency storage totes you kept in the hall closet and be ready when something went wrong.

You did just that, popping open the plastic lid and layering the flour over dry lentils, black beans, and shelf-stable cartons of broth. You decided to add more baking supplies to the list. Even if the power went out you could use the wood-burning stove in the living room to make griddle cakes. Maybe even soda bread.

There. Yeah. That wasn’t so bad. A silver lining.

As you returned to the kitchen, brainstorming ways to atone for the plastic bags you’d used, the scent of coffee wafted down the hall. Which was strange. Because you hadn’t put the moka pot on. You rushed in, frowning.

The old drip machine you only used for company burbled in the corner, and the groceries sat precariously on the corner, shoved aside by the beast who’d wandered through your unlocked door.

A tall, mohawked figure groped, shoulder-deep, in your cabinets.

MacTavish.

The Scottish mumbling would’ve tipped you off even if you weren’t so familiar with his figure (and hair, and limited wardrobe).

Your angst tasted bitter as you swallowed it down. You needed space for the feelings popping like firecrackers in your chest.

Relief. Hope. Dread.

He was in your space without invitation, and with the morning you’d just had, you felt anything but comfortable. Either you’d jumped the gun, or he was bringing a delayed apology for his friend.

“Johnny? What are you doing here?”

He smiled over his shoulder as he pulled two cups down from the shelf. One with your college logo and your prized ugly mug.

“Hello, neighbor!” He cackled, laughing at his own joke. “Wanted to give you a heads up and have a chat. My friend’s come to stay with me.”

Friend? What flavor of friend?

“I know. We met this morning.”

“Aye. Real barrel o’ sunshine, isn’ he?”

“If you say so.”

You wanted to be nice. You wanted to be his friend, too. But you weren’t, and you’d worked so hard to be a good, reliable person he could depend on in a new town – you were drained.

“His name’s Ghost.”

Most people grew out of their edgelord status by their early twenties. Ghost –with his skull balaclava and gruff voice – seemed better fit for the emo table of a suburban high school cafeteria than the adult world.

Johnny kept prattling, making an introduction for someone who wasn’t even there. “Told him all about you! He was impressed. Smacked me over the head about the pipes and said we’d go into town for a generator before the next big snow.”

“Hard to predict the next big snow.”

“Aye. He said that, too.”

If Ghost could keep your insights out of his mouth, you would appreciate it. It felt like he was stealing something from you, and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed, waiting for something terrible to happen.

And it did.

Gesturing as he described his old buddy and new housemate, his elbows danced around your kitchen like battering rams. First, he struck a cabinet, which hurt him more than the wood. He laughed it off. Kept talking. You didn’t need to say a word. By that point, you probably couldn’t even if he left space to speak.

For the life of you, you couldn’t riddle out what his visit was for. It was exhausting. He never chattered so much when you brought food or showed him how to keep his home in one piece. Ghost must make him very happy. His joy made you anxious.

His arm wide, indicating the views he’d fallen for and not the practical considerations of living in the goddamn woods on a goddamn mountain, and you watched in slow motion as his forearm caught your ugly mug’s handle.

It spun, wobbling to the edge of the counter, and before you could move, it plummeted.

A bad day instantly became your worst in years.

It must’ve made a sound when it hit, but you didn’t hear it. Or didn’t remember it. You didn’t remember going to the floor after it, either.

Your mug was in pieces, and when you pulled them to safety, wrapped tight in your fist, the glazed edges cut deep. It was such an ugly little thing. Your ugly little thing. You’d made it in one of those sip-and-spin pottery classes with your pals before you stopped going to see people face-to-face.

The mug wasn’t a friend. It was all of your friends. It was the fun you, the one who went out and did things, and moved through life like a real, entire person.

It practically exploded when it hit the tile. Some pieces were bigger than others, but there were dozens of them. Glittering chips and flecks that you knew you’d be finding with your feet through the rest of the winter.

There was no fixing it. It hurt. You were bleeding. Red oozed up between your knuckles and snaked down your wrist.

“Oh, shite! Shite, shite, shite. Are you alright? Here, let me –”

You didn’t want him to touch it again. Didn’t want him to touch you and act like he gave a fuck. This was a big, ugly feeling bubbling up inside, and if he didn’t dislike you yet, he would when he saw all the tears and snot.

A pretty crier you were not.

And no one wanted to see that, or deal with it, or cope with someone else’s messy emotions.

“It’s fine. I’m okay.” You grit your teeth and smiled through them. “But I need to clean this up, and I still have groceries to put away. How about you get your friend settled and we can talk another time, okay?”

“Are you sure?” His attention was fixed on the blood. Bright red was such an alarming color. You could understand.

“Yeah. Just a little scratch. Promise. But I can’t play host and clean myself up.”

His neck went stiff, and his eyes flicked from your face to the floor. Several times. Like he was having an argument with himself. But in the end, he listened, nodded, and got back on his feet from where he’d knelt in front of you.

“If you insist. But we’re right over there if you need anything, aye?”

“I know.”

Finally, he left.

You got up and locked the door behind him. If you’d taken time to do that before you put away the groceries none of this would’ve happened. You would still have your mug and you wouldn’t be on the floor, crying and cradling the remains of something that mattered to you.

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

He kept coming over when he needed things. Usually after Ghost’s truck rumbled down the drive. Sometimes he wanted advice. Sometimes he needed help. Usually he took tools and supplies he should’ve bought for himself.

You put your curtains to good work. You couldn’t remember a time you drew them so often. If he knocked, you’d answer, but the curtains were a good deterrent. Not foolproof, but something that gave you a little more power over your privacy.

Long jaunts into town have become escapes from your own home. Better the eyes of strangers – fleetingly painful – than the paranoia of sitting under glass where your neighbors might read your habits and foibles by the way the lights turn on and off through the night, might judge your messy hair through the kitchen window as you wash the dishes. Might, might, might. There were terrible possibilities in all that potential.

They were always there. One ready to freeze you out, the other hanging on your apron strings like a teenager who just got his first place. The conflict rubbed over your nerves like a match on a boot heel. Too much, too fast, and you’d combust.

So you found a lot of reasons to go into town. You remembered how much you liked the library, the joy of a cinnamon roll someone else baked, and hot coffee that didn’t come with a side of flashbacks.

The forecast predicted heavy snow overnight, and you made a day of grocery shopping, collecting novels from the library, and avoiding your neighbor’s last-minute requests.

You barely noticed the teens rushing out of the parking lot as you left your final stop, canvas bag loaded with enough media to keep you entertained through the storm of the century. No windows were broken. No key marks scuffed the paint. If they committed any mischief, it was minor.

Gas theft didn’t cross your mind until your engine quietly gave out and your car rolled to a stop between Nowhere and Nothing.

Understanding dawned with grudging revulsion. Like looking at the toilet and realizing it wouldn’t flush.  

The little shits had siphoned your tank.

You smacked the steering wheel, cursing.

So much for the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t escape. Everyone everywhere just wanted to use you.

But it was fine. Everything would be fine. You were always prepared in case someone fucked you over. Your wellbeing was your responsibility, after all.

Climbing out of the warm cabin, you headed to the back and pulled out the emergency gas can.

The red plastic was shockingly light. You didn’t realize until you’d already thrown your weight into the yank. Unbalanced, you tottered, and your heel skidded over ice.

The snow cushioned your fall, and you stared blankly into the white limned branches overhead as you tried to process the last five seconds. Things like this happened to idiots. They did not happen to you. Careful, cautious you with your backup plans and reserves.

You had simply made a mistake. Somewhere. Somehow. You’d find an explanation.

When you sat up, still in a state of shock, you examined the can, expecting signs of a mouse, or a crack, or…

An I.O.U. was taped to the back.

You knew the handwriting all too well.

That shitting little…

The snow arrived. Silence swallowed the mountain, and the gloaming snuffed the last of the sun’s warmth.

You sat alone on the side of the road, well aware that no one would come up this way for hours. Days maybe.

You had made a mistake.

You made your neighbor chicken soup.

Your nose burned, and you sniffed. Hot tears rolled down your face, burning as they went, and you wiped at them furiously. The wool of your mittens chafed your cheek. Your lip wobbled, and you hurled the empty can into the woods.

Fuck Johnny MacTavish.

Fuck Ghost.

Fuck your life.

[myladysapphire]

To Gwayne, with love

tired of being ingored and undervalued, you take your dragon and leave to find the one person who sees you for who you really are; your uncle, Gwayne Hightower

based of this request

word count: 5,086

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, oral (f reciving), incest, angts, love letters (if the title wasnt a hint), fluff, love confessions, not proofread!

Gwayne Hightower x neice!reader

Masterlist

Growing up as the eldest child, and eldest daughter of Alicent and Viserys you had long felt unwanted and overlooked.

Where your twin, Aegon, was seen as a future king, the rightful heir, you were seen as only a daughter, pushed to the side and out of the limelight.

Always looked over, even when it came to marriage. Where it made sense for you to marry Aegon, Heleana married him instead.

You were overlooked, and often forgotten.

Even events held in your honour were overshadowed, be it by your twin or your eldest sister Rhaenrya.

Countless nights tears had filled your eyes as you were pushed aside in favour of another sibling.

It was a funny thing really, you were the eldest daughter and yet were the last to be betrothed, excluding Daeron that was. And yet you had once been dubbed the Realms heart, you had been kind and sweet. But years of neglect, being undervalued and ignored had turned you cold and restless and made you a rebel. Where your uncle Daemon was the rouge prince, you were the defiant princess.

You had stopped waiting by the sidelines, stopped keeping too yourself and your thoughts stopped being quiet. you become outspoken, even more so when your brother was crowned king.

But all that seemed for nought as you were now meet with roll of eyes and the sound of the key locking your chambers from the outside.

You couldn’t say you were surprised, not when your mother seemed to hate you more than Aegon.

She never understood you, only one person had.

Gwayne Hightower, your uncle.

You and he had an understanding that others could only envy, you couldn’t put it into words but ever since you had meet him you felt inexplicitly drawn to him.

And yet you had only meet him thrice.

But those three times amounted into countless letters.

When one was sent two would follow, even on the road Gwayne never failed to write.

Until now.

You were sat in your chambers and an ache in your chest as you read through the last of Gwayne letters. Near two weeks had passed since his last had arrived, and these past two weeks had been when you had needed his letters the most.

dearest niece,

Words cannot describe the joy I felt upon seeing you the other, even if only for a few hours before my departure.

You have grown ever so beautiful, and I envy those who got to watch you became the beauty you are today, though I envy them more for the endless pleasure of your company.

Who knew your wit was even more compelling in person, dear niece?

I sure did not and yet your endless humour is known what I crave as I am stuck of this endless rode with ser Criston as the most interesting of my companions.

And let me tell you he is far duller than you painted. (Not that you painted him to have much of a personality aside form swords and a love for oranges.)

Perhaps it his cockiness or the self-righteousness he has as the new lord hand, which makes his so dull. He seems to love to point out his new station to us all, especially my Hightower knights, as if that will win him any favours.

Though I truly believe he thinks himself funny, though his voice is always far to monotone to decipher what is an attempt at a joke or what is orders and commands.

Gods, I wish I had stolen you away with me, even just to share the looks at Criston ‘jokes’ as he calls them.

Honestly, he is perhaps the dullest man I have ever met, what your mother sees in him I’ll never know.

But I must admit little of my time is spent completing his joke when I cannot stop thinking of you.

Tomorrow, we ride to rook’s rest, he says he has some plan, I do not quite believe it will be a good one, but I shall prey to the seven that we will be victorious, and I may see you again.

Yours, Gwayne.

You had replied far to quickly though being locked n your chamber after yelling you would ride your dragon to meet your uncle would of course leave you with little to do.

To Gwayne,

I am truly sorry you are stuck with such a dreadful man, if I had gone with you I can assure you however there would not have been much time to dwell of Cristons joke attempts, I would steal far to much of your attention, perhaps enough were you were unable to fight in this silly little war.

I do hope your thoughts of me do not distract you too much.

I wish you great luck in at rook’s rest though I fear you may have to face Meleys, and in which case I pray my mother sees sense and allows me to ride out and join the fight on moonfyers, though I Highley doubted.

But from Aegon’s visit to my prison cell (my chamber’s), it seems he is quite egar to fight, though seeing as how the small council so easily sway his mind, I doubt he will, unless he drinks himself into a false sense of courage that is.

But I pray you do not repeat those words, especially to my mother.

I too crave for your presence; it is a misery that despite years of letters we have met thrice! And the third was only days ago.

 Perhaps when you go, we can make your visits permanent.

I pray for your victory uncle, and your next letter.

With love, your dearest niece.

You had sent that letter 12 days ago; rooks rest was 10 days ago.

Of course, the journey back must be accounted for, but no one had any news, besides the death of Meleys and the princess Rhaneys, the queen who never was.

You had rather liked her, in fact you hoped to model yourself of her in some way. Though you had no right to morn you suppose, you had never spoken to her bar the common pleasantries.

You stood starting out of the window, craving the day you could smash them down and make your escape. Though where you would go, you did not know. Before the war you had one destination in mind, oldtown. Now there was no one there for you, just as there wasn’t anyone here.

The forgotten daughter. No matter how defiant you became you would only be tolerated and ignored. Your actions simple receive a tolled eye and of course, the action of yet gain being locked in your chamber.

Perhaps if your mind hadn’t been so caught up in your loathing and thoughts of jumping from your window onto the back of moonfyers you would have noticed the door opening and the feel of hands slowly covering your eyes.

You jumped in shock as your eyes were covered, only to calm down when a voice spoke.

“Guess who?” a mans voice teased, though it was the voice you had ingrained into your memory.

“Gwayne” you breathed turning around.

He laughed as you hugged him.

“When did you get back?” you asked, arms still wrapped around him.

“Only moments ago,” he sighed, “did you miss me?” he teased.

Slapping his arm lightly, you stepped back “of course not”.

“Hmm…really?” he tilted his head, clicking his tongue, “I could have sworn your letter said- “

“Stop it!” you said hitting his shoulder again.

“Fine!” he said raising his hands up in mock surrender, “only if you top hitting my arm, your poor uncle has just fought a battle”.

You rolled your eyes “and am I to presume you were victorious uncle?”

“If you could call it that”.

“What do you mean?”

He looked nervous, an expression you had never seen on him before, “your brother Aegon- “

“Aegon went! That fool”

“a fool who got himself injured”.

“what” you asked, voice full of concern. Though an outcast, overshadowed by your twin, you still cared for him greatly, even if he never showed care for you in return.

He explained what had happened and your mind spun, no one had said a thing to you and yet your twin brother lay dying in his rooms.

“I must go see him” you rushed out, heading towards the door, only for Gwayne to grip your arm.

“Go later.” He insisted, “for now stay with me! and here my woeful tales of battle”.

Shaking your head with a laugh you sit back down, listening to tales of Gwanye’s journey and of the battle, and all thoughts of Aegon were forgotten.

You woke up finding yourself wrapped in Gwayne arms on your settee. You didn’t remember falling asleep, only talking and watching the sunset and rise once more.

It must have been past noon and yet no one had knocked or come to see you, not that they had before now.

You looked over at Gwayne, he was tired, even after hours of sleep he still had bags under his yes.  

Removing yourself from his arms slowly, you made your way out of your rooms and towards your brothers.

Aegon lay alone. The room dark and empty, bar his aching, unconscious body, half his body covered in bandages, his body deadly slit and his breath shaky.

You moved closer to the bed, coming forward and placing a soft kiss on his brow.

He may be terrible, drunken whoremonger but he was still your brother.

“Aegon” you breathed heavily, taking his unburnt hand in yours, “I- “ the doors opened, and your mother barged in, “get out!” she demanded.

“Mother, I- “you said standing up.

“Get out” she said once more, coming to sit by Aegon’s side.

Standing up and moving towards the door slowly, “he’s my brother, I have every right to be here!”

She looked at you, scoffing “that matters not, now leave and go back to your rooms”.

Rolling your eyes you left and stormed back to your rooms.

“Gwayne” you breathed, seeing him now awake and sitting up, reading a book.

“How Is Aegon” he asked, as you approached.

“a sleep? I do not know my mother sent me out only a few moments after I had entered.”

He kissed his teeth, “your mother has changed much recently”.

“Recently? She has always been liked this, with me at least”

“I know, my darling… I think she- “he stopped himself, looking at you, “I am not sure what she thinks actually, me and her where never close growing up”.

You huffed, looking over at him and realising that the book he was reading was in fact your diary.

“Is that my diary!”

“no” he said dragging out the word as he moved the book out of your reach.

“Where did you- how did you”

“Do not worry how your “beautiful and daring uncle” found it”.

You gasped, crawling over him to try and reach your diary.

He laughed, as you grasped at the book, “give it back” you insisted.

“But Gwayne would be never- “

You reached the book, slapping it out of his hand, “how much of it did you read?”

“Why did you not want me to read of how much you missed me?”

“Gwayne” you sighed, looking at him, you were practically lying on him, your hands leaning on chest as you reached for your diary of the floor.

“darling” he replied, before looking at you sadly, his hand reaching to caress your cheek, “I have to go soon”.

“To your chambers or to oldtown?” you asked sadly.

“Oldtown, I – “

You interrupted him, “when?”

“We leave after dinner, we thought it best to travel at night, out of sight of dragons”.

“I see” you said moving off of him. He reached for you, trying to draw you back towards him.

Everyone always leaves or ignored you. It seemed no matter how close you got you were so easily abandoned, never once had someone stayed.

“I would ask you to come, but your mother would never allow it” he said shaking his head.

Why would she allow it? It would make you happy and the gods know how much your mother craved your misery.

“Do you think there will ever be a time when-when we can spend limitless time together?”

“I hope so, I- “he always stopped himself from saying it, saying the one thing they both craved.

“As do I”

The rest of the day was spent together craving to spend every second that they could together, but in the end, he had to leave. He was bound by duty and honour.

Saying goodbye this time was harder than the few times before it. You both stood in the courtyard, his men stood the side, their own conversations distracting them.

Your mother having said her goodbyes, and had left the courtyard already, leaving you both to say your goodbyes.

“I hope it is not to long before I can see you again” you said looking down to thew ground and kicking at the gravel.

“As do I” Gwayne said grabbing your hand and kissing it gently.

Your eyes shared a look, a look saying everything you both couldn’t.

“I’ll miss you” you breathed heavily, eyes never leaving his.

you both stepped closer, now inches apart.

You moved your lips to kiss his cheek, only for Gwayne to move his head and capture your lips with his, in a soft delicate kiss.  

The shadows of the keep kept you had hidden from wandering eyes as you kissed.

It was short but sweet and left you both wanting more as he was forced to step back from you.

He whispered softly “I will think of you, always”.

“As will I” you said, reaching into you hem and pulling out your handkerchief, you had sown the initial of your name and his ono it, and placed it in the palm of his hand.

Closing is hand you softly placed a kiss onto it.

“goodbye” he spoke, before moving to his horse and riding off, sending you a final look before he left.

The days tricked by, blurring together. Aegon’s recovering slow and with little change.

You stayed in your room, much to your mother’s delight.

Letters were exchanged between you and Gwayne. But this time the letters seemed different, this time they were bolder, your feelings no longer hidden.

Dearest,

I left you only moments ago and yet I miss you already.

That kiss was everything and more, I cannot believe it took us so long to do it, even of it happened by a mistake.

I am sorry our reunion was so brief, and I wish I was bound to you and not duty.

I shall write again soon, but in the meantime, I hope the thought of you in my thoughts will tide you over.

Yours, Gwyane.

Dear Gwayne,

You just left my side and yet apart of me left with you.

I hope your thoughts are filled with me as mine are of you.

The walk back to my room was a long one, longer than it had ever taken me as I had to drag myself away from you, away from moonfyers as thoughts of chasing after you filled my mind.

My mind was a mess all night, much to my mother’s disappointment. Though I doubt she noticed my mind was with you and not in the keep.

This morrow I was awoken absurdly early and summoned to the small council!

And before you say anything I am not sure as to why, even after attending it.

I seemed to be there as a way to boost Aemond’s moral? Or should I say the prince regents.

I was simple them to watch plans be made, and to be told of an alliance, a marriage between me and some lords son, I believe some Tully.

I refused and they demanded.

I offered my dragon, they refused, and I demanded.

They claimed a woman in battle would only lead to a loss. Even if moonfyers is bigger than most for her age and even rivals Caraxes.

Anything else was ignored and dismissed and I was quickly ushered to my chambers and forced to plan a wedding.

A wedding I wish was with you.

I do not know what to do, uncle.

Please tell me to come to you, and I will.

Yours always.

My love,

The days are endlessly long, and I find myself craving you by myside more than ever.

You chase my every though both awake and asleep.

And forgive me for beings bold, niece, but I can, no will not hold back what I have longed to crave any longer.

I wished I had placed you upon my horse and ridden of with you into the night, defying your mother and brothers’ commands.

But I want you, more than I need air to breath. And for so long I have defied myself and held back my desires, my love for you.

I beg you, come to me.

Forget their plans and demands, come to me and marry me.

I am set to arrive in old town in two days, leaving you plenty of time to come to me.

With love, Gwyane.

To Gwyane,

I will come to you, it may take a few days, but I cannot stay here. And I will not stay away from you any longer.

With love, your heart.

you sat in your chambers, contemplation how you to leave.

Though there were secret passageways in your room, you had never used them. They were like a labyrinth in truth and the one time you had speed in them you feared you would get lost.

And the guards stationed outside of your door were stationed for the exact reason you were event you were currently planning.

your other would never let you go willingly, not now especially.

But then again you doubted she would notice you were gone, at least for a day or two.

Heleana may notice, but she wouldn’t say a thing.

Aemond had just been given what he always wanted and would flaunt his power as much as he could, meaning he’d keep put of your way, in fear you would ‘act up’, as he called it, and embarrass him.

This meant that the guards were your only issue, and perhaps Larys spy’s. though you cared not for them for what could they do to stop you? Tattle to Larys who would sell the information for the sight of your mother’s feet? Even then you would have a few hours.

Luckly for you however, you knew your guards. And they had a penchant for wine.

“Steffon, Gregor” you whispered opening your door a bottle of Dornish red in hand.

“Princess” they nodded, tuning around to ignore you.

“You must be bored” you started, “perhaps you can join me for a drink?” you said, fluttering your eyelashes.

They turned to face each other unsure of what to do, “oh come on, know one will care. You’ll still be guarding me, won’t you?”

Their eyes wandered to the bottle of wine “is that the only bottle, princess?”

You scoffed, “of course not”.

They smiled and ushered you in to your chamber.

It was funny, you must have done this a dozen time before and they still fell for it every time.

And being such lightweights, they were quick to fall into a drunken sleep, allowing you to grab your bag and make a run for the dragon pit.

Running through the streets of Kingslanding at night were dan, especially in your rich clothes and jewels.         

And seeing as you had only walked to the dragon pit once or twice, with the company of a dozen guards, the run was a lot longer than expected.

Getting lost in the never-ending streets of flea bottom was easy, and before you knew it you had somehow ended up on the streets of silk.

“gods” you mumbled, looking around in search of a sign to lead you in the right direction.

You could see the dragon pit, so at least you weren’t too far away, only issue is the brothel with the name ‘Chantaya’s’ seemed to stand in the way of a quick exit.

“sister” you heard someone say, and the sight of Aemond exiting said brothel, through you into a sprint once again.

You were sure you looked like some pick pocket as you ran through the street, Aemond hot on your tale.

And with being such a stranger to kings landing you found yourself meeting an end and Aemond catching up to you.

“Let go of me” you muttered trying to pull yourself free from Aemond’s grasp.

“Who let you out” he sneered.

“Does it matter?” you sneered in return, “what are you even doing here?” you asked, and Aemond face dropped.

“I could ask you the same”.

“I wanted to go to the dragon pit” “the dragon pit” he reiterated, not believing you. “To what? Declare for the usurper?”

“Gods no” you near yelled, “I- “you were hesitant to tell him, having never got on along with him and never having much to say to him at all, this was honestly the most you and he had spoken since the start of the war. “I wish to go to oldtown”.

“why”

“To…to see Gwyane”.

“Our uncle?”

“Do you know of another Gwyane I could possibly wish to see in oldtown?” you said snidely.

He hummed, looking at you with a smirk, “I am your prince regent, I command you know” he said, “one word from me and I could have you locked in the black cells, or I could command you to go to oldtown to gather forces, with Gwayne”

You hated that you looked at him hopeful and hated even more that if he asked you would beg.

“But why, dear sister? Should I command you to oldtown? You are the future lady Tully after all”.

You scoffed, “oh please, we both know the Tullys are hardly loyal now and the second old Grover Tully dies they’ll declare for the black’s”.

“true”

“And why would you want me here anyway? I do not listen, and I defy your every move, sending me a way would better your rule, would it not?”

“Oh sister, you truly have been undervalued. Fine I shall take you to the dragon pit and order you to oldtown.”

Order you? As if there was a single part of you that did not already crave to be there, with him.

The walk to the dragon pit was a quiet and awkward, with Aemond pulling you by the hand, a tight grip as if you would try to escape.

Not a word was exchanged even as you entered, only your words commanding the dragon keepers to fetch you moonfyers and Aemond stood beside you in his usual stance.

He gave you a taunting wave as you took flight, and you never looked back.

It took five hours for you to reach oldtown.

A storm thundered as you entered the reach, rain dowsing your and obstructing your vison. Had it not been for the bright blue scales of your brother’s dragon, Tesserion you were sure you would have flown into the Hightower.

Landing, you were quickly greeted with guards and the face of your brother Daeron.

“Brother” you greeted as you slide of your dragon, “a pleasure to see you!”

“And you, Gwayne said you were coming” he nodded, hand raised to stop rain pouring over his face, “come in, quickly”

The Hightower, was exactly as you envisioned, filled with riches and symbols of the seven. It looked like a museum almost.

You were brough into a room lined with seats and walls filled with books. Painting filled with the faces of old lords and ladies, and tapestry depicting Aegon s landing in oldtown and his coronation.

“niece” you heard a voice breath, causing your inspection to come to a halt as you turned and faced Gwayne,

“uncle” you breathed in return and not a moment later were you running into his arms and your lips meeting once more.

This kiss was different than the one in the courtyard, this one was filled with longing, filled with pure love and desire.

Years of want filling you mouths your lips moved against each other.

“Gwayne” you whispered against his lips, as you both breathed heavily, your heads leant against each others.

He whispered your name in return, “you came” he breathed, not quite believing it.

“of course, you asked…and the prince regent commanded it”

He laughed “what?”

“when I was making my mistake i came across Aemond leaving a brothel” you laughed, “and somehow he decided to command me to oldtown to gather forces”

“oh?” he said, head tilting, “I see…does that mean you now command me?”

“do I not anyway?” you asked tauntingly.

He laughed, grabbing you to him once more and pulling you into another kiss, “I believe we command each other, my love” he said breaking the kiss.

“my love?”

“my love” he agreed, caressing your cheek, “I love you” he finally admitted.

And you smiled. Looking at him as he always looked at you.

He always had seen you, understood you when no one else did.

And the look in his yes, it was pure love and you had never felt more seen than in this moment.

“I love you” you replied, and he smiled.

“come with me” he said taking your hand and leading you up to his room.

His room, though perhaps smaller than others, was still large and full of all things Gwayne. With his own mural and tapestry.

“do you like it?” he asked, taking note of your eyes that had not left the tapestry he had commissioned.

“is that?” you asked, unsure if you were seeing it right.

“Moonfyer and you, yes”

“gods, Gwyane” you said breathlessly, a mural of you riding moonfyers for the first time, your second time meeting Gwyane and the first time you and he realised the bond between you both.

You turned to face him, and kissed him once more.

Unlike before this kiss was heated, passionate and full of lust.                                                                                                 

His hands moved to your waist, as you slowly moved towards the bed, your hands reaching and pulling at his clothes, taking them of and leaving him in only his small clothes.

Your dress wet and soaked was quickly torn of you intern, leaving you only in your soaked chemise.

Their lips broke apart as her legs hit the bed. Taking each other in Gwayne moaned at the sight of your breast peeking out through the now sheer chemise.

“can i?” Gwayne breathed, hand coming to toy with the strap of your chemise.

You nodded, allowing your chemise to slip and leaving you bare before him.

“gods” he breathed, “ you are beautiful” he said, before pushing you down on the bed, his lips connecting with yours.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, nipping at your skin, causing you to moan softly.

He kissed his way down your body, before he reached your cunt.

“can i?” he asked once more, eager to taste her cunt.

“yes”  you said, not quite sure what he intended to do until you felt his nose nudge between your thighs and a slow lick alone the length of your cunt.

groaning at the taste, he quickly went back licking and tasting your cunt, like a man starved. You moaned pleasure, hands moving to tug his hair as he found your clit.

Touching yourself had never felt like this, the sheer pleasure you felt as he sucked your clit into his mouth was better than any orgasm you had brought yourself to before, even more so when you felt his fingers toying with your entrance.

You tensed as his fingers entered you. They were thicker and longer than your own and you started to feel the stretch as he pumped you full of his two fingers.

You moaned, your body moving off the bed as you his fingers pumped in and out.

His hand moved to your waist gripping you down as he continued to fill you, your moans filling the room as his third finger entered you and you soon reached your peak.

He slowly backed away from you, pulling down his small clothes to revel his hard, thick cock.

“oh!” you spoke, at the sight of him.

“oh? Not good enough niece?” he asked teasingly.

“gods, it, yes” you nodded, reaching out to him.

He laughed, before slowly crawling onto the bed, his body covering yours. Taking your lips his, in a passionate and heated kiss, as his legs slowly parted yours as he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Are you sure?” he breathed against your lips, hand holding your waist as his cock teased your entrance.

You nodded, reaching forward to kiss him again, “yes”.

At the word he entered you slowly.

You groaned at the stretch but found no pain as he entered you.

His long cock filling you, a bulge appearing in your stomach as he allowed time for you to adjust.

“gods, you feel amazing” he groaned, moving his head to the nape of your neck “can I move?” he groaned, as your walls wrapped around him.

Nodding, “yes” you breathed. And wasting no time he began to slowly pump in and out of you.

You moaned as he thrusted into you, your hips moving to meet his as he picked up the pace.

He groaned at the feel of you moving against him, has hands gripping your waist as he started to thrust into you faster, he soon found that sweet spot inside you, that quickly turned you into a moaning mess. And soon you were wrapping your arms around him, clawing at his back as you felt your peak it washes over you and the feel if his seed filling you.

Your breath was heavy, his even heavier as he lay on you, his face still in your neck leaving soft kisses as he started to move of you slightly.

“marry me” he said, giving you soft kisses between his words. “this place is filled with septon’s it will be easy to find one to marry us.”

“okay” you said, looking into his yes.

“okay?”

You laughed, “yes, Gwyane I will marry you.”

taglist

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[99woez]

don't talk about it ᰔᩚ j.sc

warnings. smut, best friend!sungchan, roommate!sungchan, arguing, it's a dumb argument but you are fighting this man, physical fighting, just shoving nothing crazy but a physical altercation starts this all, unprotected sex, hair pulling, some angst? idk if i missed something let me know! i also did not proofread this because i got out 5k words in one night which is crazy for me. anyways, enjoy!

wc. 5k

summary. your best friend embarrasses you in front of your campus crush. so, of course, you decide to fight with him in the living room and learn some interesting things about him in the process.

Sungchan had always been stupidly large, in your opinion.

He was so large that you couldn’t resist the urge to playfully test his strength, curious to see how his fit frame would react to your playful jabs or if he would sway with a gentle nudge. He would playfully push you back, never with full force, but these light-hearted scuffles became a regular part of your friendship. It was a source of joy, a shared silliness, it meant everything.

Except for the times it did.

“You’re so stupid sometimes, oh my god!” You shouted at your so-called “best friend,” shoving hard into his chest. This shove wasn’t like the ones you usually gave him. This one was harsh and mean. There was not a semblance of anything alluding to happiness on your face as you looked up at Sungchan with knitted brows and parted lips, shoving hard into his firm chest once again, this time with a shout of frustration.

If we’re being honest, you two have been drinking. It’s not like you’re shitfaced and neither is he, but the alcohol is just enough to make the world blurry at the edges and your words harsher than you typically allow them to be. His chest, solid as a boulder beneath your pushing palms, doesn't yield like it usually would during your fond roughhousing. He stands firm, his expression teetering between annoyance and worry.

"Stop it," he gruffly says, grabbing your wrists mid-shove. Just like that, the playful laughter that usually echoes between you two gets choked in the tension-filled silence. You try to yank your hands-free, but his grip is firm yet gentle. He was never rough with you, even when the fights turned serious like this. It was a rarity for things to turn nasty, but sometimes Sungchan was so oblivious you couldn’t stop yourself from lashing out at him, especially with a few mixed drinks in your system.

“Let go,” You snapped. Sungchan leans in with a tilt of his head, letting out a “Hm?” as he does so, challenging you.

“Chill out first.” That did the exact opposite of chill you out. You hated it when he took that tone of voice with you, as if you were some child that needed to be put into a timeout. 

There were many things you loved about Sungchan: His kindness, his dedication to anything he sets his mind to, his eyes, you loved a lot about Sungchan, but there were many things you couldn’t stand about him. He was oblivious to the simplest of social cues, he got loud when he was drunk, and the way he comforted people was an absolute joke. If you hadn’t known him for more than half your life and shared an apartment with him, you would’ve ditched him when you two graduated high school.

But you didn’t. Now, you’re stuck with a big, dumb roommate who loves telling the men you like that you like them. God, Wonbin was never going to talk to you again after the scene Sungchan caused trying to get him to give you his number. You still can feel the embarrassment hot in your veins, making you lurch forward and finally give his chest a shove that makes him stumble a few steps.

“I won’t chill out! I won’t! What you did was fucking rude!” You yelled, pointing a finger in his face to punctuate your words and get your point across. Sungchan scoffed, turning his head away from you, but you could see his tongue press against the inside of his cheek, making the skin push out slightly. It was a habit of his you had noticed when you two went to parties together in college. It’s what he does when he’s annoyed and holding himself back, beating someone’s ass. It’s a rare occasion for Sungchan to beat someone’s ass, but when it did happen, it was always deserved. Typically, it would be a drunk guy who wanted to buck up to the biggest guy at the party, a one-sided battle of masculinity that Sungchan always won, no matter who came up to him. You’ve only seen Sungchan throw a punch twice in your entire friendship.

Once, when you were in high school, and the last time was at a party during your junior year of college when a man put his hands on you despite you telling him to fuck off. The other times, he had simply told you about when you’d see him in the kitchen with littered bruises on his body. You think about that night more often than you’d like to admit. Sungchan didn’t hesitate to throw a punch for you, knocking the man clean out by the time he was done with him. It lit a fire in you that you’re not proud to admit. There was just something in his eyes that rubbed your brain right. You would never admit it, but were desperate to see that look again. You wanted to see him angry, to watch him lose control no matter how fucked up it sounds.

“Get your hand out of my face,” Sungchan told you firmly, looking you in the eyes to get his point across, but you weren’t deterred. You step closer to him, finger still in his face.

“No. Not until you apologize. Admit it was rude. You were rude.”

“I wasn’t fucking rude,” Sungchan argues, swatting your hand down when you don’t move it from his face. You bring it back up without a care of the consequences, resulting in a game of him swatting your hand down every time you bring it up.

You two look stupid. Thank God this is in the privacy of your living room.

“You had no right-”

“You were never going to talk to him if I didn’t! You’re a chicken-”

“I’m not a fucking chicken––Oh my god, don’t call me a bird.”

“You’re such a fucking chicken, dude. Do you remember how long it took you to even talk to Shotaro? Months. ‘Took you months to even say hi to him, and that’s because-”

“Shut up.”

“That’s because I had to step it! I was the one to get you to talk to him!” Sungchan continued with a shit-eating grin, voice picking up volume as he leaned down to get closer to you as if you couldn’t hear him clear enough, pointing to himself like he had won some kind of award. Your already flushed cheeks begin to heat up when you remember the Shotaro incident of 2022. He always brought up Shotaro, and even if it was just to pick on you playfully, it still struck a nerve. You were more shy than Sungchan ever was, always letting him start the conversations or introduce you to new people. Half of your friends are Sungchan’s friends; half of the people you’ve dated are because Sungchan knew them first. Every connection in your life could be traced back to Sungchan, which drove you insane.

“Now, you want to talk all this shit because you got embarrassed I had to step in again and help you get some dick,” Sungchan pressed, his grin turning into a smirk as he nodded at his words, feeling them in his being because they’re true. You stared at him with contempt, teeth grinding as your fists balled up tightly. “You should be thanking me. You’re so ungrateful for everything-”

You lunged at him. You swear you don’t have control of your body when you do it, you just throw your entire weight into his chest and hope for the best. Sungchan let out an “Oof!” sound when you collided with him, staggering back and hitting the ground with you on top of him. You act as if you two are playfully wrestling, but none of your movements have an ounce of playfulness in them. You straddled his hips firmly as you shoved at his hands harshly to get them away from grabbing you. You knew once he got his hands on you, it was over. He’d flip you two over, and it’d be done. You couldn’t let him win this. You couldn’t do it. You had to prove it to him.

You don’t know what it was, but you had to prove it.

You grab his hair tightly, jerking his head off the carpet to distract him, tugging hard on the brown locks. Sungchan lets out a yelp that sounds pathetic. His eyes squeezed shut as his large hands wrapped around your wrist to try and pull you off of him.

“Not fair-” He started. You shake his head, eliciting another yelp from him.

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up,” You spat at him, shaking him again. His face contorted in pain and confusion, groaning softly as he did what you told him for once. You couldn’t believe he actually listened. Truthfully, you didn’t think you’d get this far. You’re not exactly sure what to do next. So, you shake his head again, making him hiss when you tugged harder on his locks. “Can’t fucking stand you, you know that? You’re such a jerk sometimes. Just big, stupid, and taking up space.” You shake his head around with every word, watching him drop his hands and put them up in front of him in faux surrender, but he doesn’t say anything. He only whined and grunted when you pulled on his hair harder than usual.

You waited for him to spit something back at you, to call you a coward, to say you needed him, but nothing but pants left his plush lips. You furrow your brows in confusion at his silence. Sungchan was never quiet. You shake him again.

“Hello? Say something!” You shake his head again, this time back and forth. You won’t lie. It was fun to have him like this. He acted like some kind of puppet that you were the master of, pulling him around in whichever direction you wanted him to go in, and he just took it. Sungchan sighed in defeat, keeping his eyes shut tightly.

“My dick just twitched.” 

Oh.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t think of anything else to say. Your hands, which had been roughly pulling at Sungchan's hair, suddenly freeze. Your heart pounds in your chest as you gaze down at him, cocking a brow at him. His face is flushed a deep crimson, though whether from embarrassment or something else, you can't tell.

"I said," he starts again, much slower this time, swallowing hard, "My... my dick just twitched."

You blink at his repeated confession, not expecting him to repeat the words. There’s a tension growing between the two of you that you’ve never felt before, making your throat dry as you stare at Sungchan’s embarrassed face, watching his chest rise and fall as he pants beneath you. Flashes of what he’d look like without his shirt flash in your brain, wondering what sounds he’d make as you sink down on him, how his eyes would look, how the muscles would ripple under his––Jesus Christ, get it together, girl. You remind yourself, clearing your throat down at him.

“Like…Seriously?” Sungchan nods at your dry words, opening his eyes slowly to look up at you. A switch in your brain is flipped when you see his big brown eyes. He looks utterly pathetic like this, hair in your hand revealing his forehead, eyes pleading for something silent, and lips in a perfect soft pout. You wanted to take his picture like the actual definition of pitiful.

You chuckle at him, shaking him again and tugging his hair hard to see if it really did anything for him. He whines again, shutting his eyes as his hands lurch towards your hips, holding tightly with a sharp breath through his teeth. You smirk at his reaction, raising your brows in slight shock it was this easy to get him going. Maybe it was the alcohol, you think. You’ve seen Sungchan shove his tongue down girls’ throats just mere minutes after he met them, but this is you. You’re his best friend, his roommate, the girl who beat his ass for talking to her crush for her. You know you’re pretty, and Sungchan is just a man, but you’re still caught off guard by it all.

Your palm still cradled his scalp, thumb lazily tracing small circles at the base of his hairline. Sungchan’s hands on your hips squeeze gently, fingers digging into your flesh just a bit more than necessary and causing a shiver to wind its way up your spine.

Without thinking, you leaned forward and claimed Sungchan's lips in a rough, desperate kiss. His taste was different than any guy you've ever kissed - salty with a hint of beer and lime from the drink he had tonight. You wrapped your hand tightly around the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you as your other hand found its way under his shirt to feel his warm skin. You didn't let up when he moaned into your mouth, feeling your touch while he tentatively kissed you back. Your anger turned into desperation quickly as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, tasting him fully now. His lips were soft and plush against yours as they parted slightly to let you in further. You moaned the moment your tongues slid together, digging your nails into his toned chest as he pressed in further, sucking softly on the slick muscle in your mouth.

Sungchan's hands moved up your body, gripping your waist and still pulling you closer. The fabric of your shirt scratching against his rough palms made you shiver with anticipation for more contact. You grind down on him out of instinct, feeling the bulge in his pants grow as he groans against your mouth, wanting more from both of you. His scent filled your senses - a mix of sweat and cologne and something uniquely Sungchan that made you want more.

The sound of his rhythmic grunts filled the room, a mix of desire and surprise in every breath he took. His fingers dug into your skin through your shirt, and you moaned into his mouth once more. Your breath hitched when he bit down on your lower lip gently, making you gasp and whimper into the kiss before breaking it, desperate for air. You gasp softly when you part, watching with hazy eyes as he pants as well, lips slick with spit and typically wide eyes heavy with lust.

You tug at his shirt, nodding before he has any time to say something that will kill the mood.

“Take it off.”

And he listens like a dog, pushing himself up and pulling his white T-shirt over his head, tossing it aside before wrapping his arms around your torso and pulling you flush against him. There are no thoughts in your head right now, only Sungchan, touching Sungchan, kissing Sungchan, fucking Sungchan––Holy shit, you were totally going to fuck Sungchan. That hits you harder than you thought it would. You’ve thought about it before. How could you not? He’s beautiful, kind, and built like a God. Of course, you thought about fucking Sungchan. It was nothing like this, however. Typically, you thought of him having your face pressed into the mattress, back arched, and fucking you from behind like he was getting paid. You would’ve never guessed you’d be on top, but it’s not like you can’t get into it for Sungchan. You’d do anything for Sungchan.

"Are you sure?" Sungchan whispers against the skin of your neck, his hands finding your hips again to steady you against him, his bare chest warm and firm. You're taken aback for a moment, not expecting the question. But then you realize that he’s always been considerate, even when he’s on the verge of losing control.

"Yeah," you say firmly, the word slipping out without thought and causing heat to flare in Sungchan's eyes.

Without hesitation, you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head swiftly. The cool air hits your skin, making goosebumps spread across your chest and arms. Sungchan's eyes widen as he takes you in, his gaze making you feel exposed and powerful. You struggle to pull your jeans off, having to crawl off of him to kick them off in haste. You hate how desperate you look but can’t bring yourself to care. Sungchan rolls on his side when you crawl off of him, lingering towards you like a lost puppy. His eyes watch as more of your skin is revealed to him, letting out a groan when he sees the smooth skin of your thighs.

Before you have the chance to climb back on top of him, he leans in, kissing the side of your thigh with a moan. You let out a gasp in shock but watched him with parted lips, threading your hands through his hair again as he dragged his lips all over the expanse of your thigh, leaving a trail of glistening spit as he did. He grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him roughly, making you fall back onto the carpet with another gasp. You don’t argue for once; you are too invested in what Sungchan will do next, even if you care.

His lips pepper kisses across the inside of your thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin with deep breaths as he inched closer and closer to your core.

He licks his lips as he hooks a long finger in your underwear, pulling them to the side. A moan leaves his lips when he sees your pussy for the first time, looking down at it like he’s looking at a coveted piece of art. You watch him closely, ears turning pink as he lifts two fingers to his lips, licking the tips of them before bringing them down between your legs to rub circles into your clit. His gaze stays on your cunt, watching how the pretty pink flesh moves beneath his fingers, biting his bottom lip when he hears you let out a whine, seeing your thighs tremble at just the slightest touch. Finally, his dark gaze lifts to meet yours.

With his eyes trained on yours, he presses a long finger inside you. A sigh leaves your lips as your eyes flutter shut, gripping the carpet with one hand while the other dug into your side, biting your bottom lip as he pressed another finger inside. You moan this time, feeling your walls begin to stretch for him. You hear him groan quietly, making your eyes open. You’re immediately met with his gaze that never left your face. He looks like he’s in a trance, staring at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You can’t tell how it makes you feel, but you feel hot, like you’re boiling from the inside out. It aches, but it’s so intoxicating that you want more of it.

You whimper at how his fingers slickly slide out, then back in, watching him get lost in the sight of your reactions. You’re so wet for him. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you got so quickly. You swallow thickly as your chest rises and falls with each pant. His eyes stay on your face as his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing slow circles that make you shiver with a choked-out moan. His free hand cups your jaw, tilting your head back slightly, forcing your lips apart to look deeply into your eyes as he watches you crumble under him.

Feeling emboldened, Sungchan takes his fingers out of you slowly, letting out a long moan when they leave you empty. He lays a line of sweet pecks against your inner thighs, leaving tiny bites and nips on the soft flesh until he reaches the hem of his boxers. With a breathy "Fuck," he tugs them down enough to reveal his hard cock pressing against the fabric. You gulp as it springs from its confines, averting your eyes momentarily before snapping them back up to challenge his gaze. His thick length twitches with anticipation before he guides it towards you, slick with pre-cum leaking from the tip. Your heart stops for a beat before racing wildly in your chest again.

"Wrap your legs around me," Sungchan orders softly, not breaking eye contact even when you hesitate for a second before obeying. He grunts when he feels your folds pressing against his cock, pushing inside without a moment’s hesitation. He slides in so easily, groaning at how smooth the glide inside you is. He sounds as beautiful as he looks, making you moan as well. The way his cock splits your walls apart for him is delicious, to say the least, as a euphoria fills your veins as your walls spasm around him with another moan, this one airier than the one before.

“Fuck,” Sungchan curses, fingers digging into the carpet next to your head as he looks down at where your bodies were connected before back at your face. You two lock eyes again, making your heart hammer in your chest harder than before. Still, you meet his gaze with a quiet whimper, hands wrapping around his strong biceps as you bat your lashes at him.

“Feels good, Sungie?” You ask in a too-sweet voice. You rarely whip out for him unless you ask for a favor, like getting something off the top shelf or making him finish your short answer response questions because you don’t want to. Sungchan would do anything for you, and you’d do anything for Sungchan. He takes a deep breath at your tone, lips curling into a smirk before he bites his bottom lip, nodding.

Then, his hips roll into yours.

Sungchan's thick cock feels even better than you could have ever imagined, stretching you wide and fulfilling you completely. His hips roll into yours slowly, making you moan and whine beneath him with each gentle thrust. The way he fills you up is mind-numbing, his smirk turning into a grimace as he leans down to capture your lips in a rough kiss.

Your walls clamp down on him at the contact, purposely trying to get more friction between the two of you. Sungchan groans against your lips, slipping his hands under your back and lifting you up onto his lap effortlessly. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his hard chest pressed against yours. Your heart pounds in your chest as he starts to fuck you properly now, eyes closing at the sensation that washes over you. You swear you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, but you convince yourself you’re just dreaming it.

You feel every inch of him inside of you, making your walls tighten around him with every snap of his hips into yours. A tiny sob leaves your lips when he hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars. You dig your nails into the flesh of his shoulders, jaw-dropping and eyes rolling back at how your body moves like a rag doll and at how sharply his hips snap up into you. He groans into your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin before sucking softly to soothe it with his tongue. You can't help but shudder in his lap; this feels so good that it hurts. His hands hold you in place, one on your waist and the other cradling the back of your head as he takes rough control of the kiss again, teeth scraping against soft skin with every thrust. He pants against your lips, moaning your name softly and how good you make him feel. It's all too much for you; all too real with Sungchan, yet so not real. You’re fucking your roommate on your living room floor––You’re fucking your best friend on your living room floor.

Your hands find their way into his hair again, holding onto him tightly as he continues to fuck into you like your his, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck and over your collarbone. You mewl at the feeling, arching your back into his chest as he hits that sweet spot inside you once more. You could feel the warmth spreading through your veins, making you dizzy with need. The room spins around you as he thrusts harder, faster, deeper into your already aching pussy. His moans mix with yours, their tongues meeting in a messy kiss that speaks volumes about how much you both want this.

Your legs quiver as he takes control of the situation, fingers digging into your skin softly before trailing up to caress your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra. You let out a strangled cry when he pinches at one of your nipples roughly, making you moan into his mouth even more, looking down to watch him work with a breath through your teeth. Your hands' card through the hair on the back of his head, eyes shutting to focus solely on the pleasure coursing through your veins with every drag of Sungchan’s cock against your walls.

"Sun-Sungchan," you whimper. The sound of his name on your lips is like music to his ears. Your body is sweaty and flushed, a beautiful sight for him to feast his eyes upon. He growls lowly when he finally meets your gaze again, heat pooling in your lower belly at the raw desire he displays.

“You’re so fucking good, baby. ‘Should’ve fucked you soon, hm?” Sungchan groans, his voice creased with effort as he continues to pound into you. You can’t help but respond with a needy whimper, skin burning under his touch as you nod your head dumbly. You feel him everywhere, and it's overwhelming - the way he’s stretched you wide open, the way he feels pushing deep inside of you, the way his hands are holding you in place as if afraid that you'll slip away from underneath him.

Your heart beats furiously against your chest, matching rhythm with the throbbing ache between your legs. You're close, too close, but not quite there yet. Sungchan seems to sense your growing desperation, the flash of triumph in his eyes telling you he knows exactly what he's doing to you. He reaches down and begins rubbing slow circles on your clit again, thumb pressing against the sensitive nub just enough to make you cry out in pleasure.

“You gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your throat, teeth dipping into your soft flesh, causing a sharp gasp from your lips. You nod frantically in response, words failing you as white-hot pleasure courses through your veins. He laughs softly - a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine.

The way you melt against him is intoxicating. He grunts, unable to think straight as he feels his own orgasm building up. His hips move even faster, his cock sliding in and out of your welcoming heat with each thrust. He groans against your skin, panting heavily as he fucks you like it’s his last dying will, wet sounds filling the room that mixes with your pants and moans. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sounds you’re making, cheeks growing more read because of it. Sex is so embarrassing sometimes.

He pulls away from your neck just a little to look into your eyes, panting heavily as they roll back in pleasure. Sungchan's lips curl into a smirk at seeing how lost you get. Your walls tighten around his cock once again as you cum around him, making Sungchan's eyes roll back into his head and tilt his head back with a melodic groan that has you moaning as well. You feel him tremble beneath you as he finally cums inside of you, making you smirk softly as your hands run up and down his back.

You throw your head back and cry out his name, orgasm hitting you hard and fast like a freight train. He watches as you finally hit your peak, jaw-dropping at how gorgeous you look when you feel good. Your walls clamp down around him, and your muscles spasm in ecstasy; even through the haze of pleasure, you feel every drop of his cum spilling into you, the heat of it searing into your core. Your body convulses and shivers under the onslaught of pleasure, your voice breaking on Sungchan's name. 

Sungchan stays still for a moment longer, his cock still buried deep inside of you. His chest heaves against yours, ragged gasps filling the space between your sated bodies. He blinks slowly, his gaze holding yours captive as he pants out your name. You take his face into his hands with a deep breath, leaning in and kissing his lips without a second though. He moans into the kiss, holding your wrists gently as he does so.

You both stay like that for a while. Bodies joined together in the aftermath of your shared orgasm. The only sounds in the room are your gasping breaths and the rapid beat of your heart pounding in sync. Cautiously, Sungchan pulls out of you gently, making your pussy squeeze around nothing instinctively at the loss, a soft whimper leaving your lips.

He rolls off to one side, pulling you with him so that you're tucked against his side. His arm wraps around you and keeps you close to him, fingers dancing along your sweaty skin lightly. Neither of you speak for long moments, too wrapped up in trying to regain control of your breathing and coming down from your highs even to fathom thinking of words right now.

Eventually, though, Sungchan breaks the silence with a soft whisper, "You okay?"

Your lips twitch into a tired smile against his chest, pressing a small kiss there before nodding. "Yeah," you huff out after a moment, "That was…"

"Crazy," he finishes for you, making you shut your eyes with a laugh, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah…That was crazy,” You whisper, moving your head to rest on his chest to soak up more of his warmth. Your cheek squishes against his chest as you lay there, looking down at his spent cock resting against his thigh. It hits you that you’re both naked and just had sex on your living room floor. This calls for a conversation at the least but you can’t drag yourself to start it, completely spent from what just occurred.

So, instead, you close your eyes.

You’ll deal with it in the morning.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Whenever Jason is not in the best of moods, the rest of the family knew just who to get to make this right; you.

So the moment dick pushed you into Jason’s room, closing the door behind you, knowing firsthand that Jason hates being bothered when he wasn’t in a great mood, much to you’re surprise but the moment Jason saw that it was you his mood lightens and his face becomes soft.

‘Hi. I heard you weren’t in a good mood.’ You said and within the blink of an eye you were within Jason’s arms as he cuddled you against him like a teddy bear.

He hummed deeply as he burrowed his head into your shoulder. It was cute to see Jason like this, one minute about to bite someone’s head, but the next he’s docile and acting like some overgrown cat. Purring and clinging onto you for emotional support as you rubbed his broad back soothingly.

You were the Jason whisperer amongst his family, only you could bring calm and quiet to his mind just by caressing his cheek and smiling at him while asking; ‘are you okay jay birdie?’

‘No.’ He huffs. ‘Family being a bunch of dicks.’

‘Isn’t that how family usually are? A bunch of dicks?’ You replied and Jason couldn’t help but smile as he brought you closer as he draped the covers of his bed over the both of you, getting ready for an impromptu nap.

‘This family is the biggest bunch of dicks to ever dick.’ Jason groaned sleepily as he tucked you under his chin, practically cocooning his body over yours in a protective manner.

‘Why?’ You asked, running your hand through his hair, making sure to mess with his white tuff at the front the most. ‘They know my weakness for you.’ He answers as he feel the need to sleep lull him along with your fingers through his hair easing him into a state of relaxation.

Even after Jason falls asleep and dick, Damian, Tim, Steph, cass and duke peaked their heads through the doorway to see you stroking the back of their behemoth of a brother as though he was as harmless as a puppy.

‘Jason whisperer strikes again.’ Steph said in a whisper.

You smiled at them before looking back at Jason, then back at them. ‘I’m going to be stuck here for a good while.’ You tell them and their faces changed. ‘Why?’ Duke asked, worried that something was wrong.

‘Watch.’ You tell them as you began to shuffle away from Jason, only for Jason to shove you back under his chin and his legs to latch onto yours, keeping your face pressed against his tiddies. ‘See, he won’t let me leave.’ You added, voice muffled from Joe close Jason was pressing you to his chest. Dick, Tim, Damian, cass, duke and Steph could only smile and find humour in your current situation and how sweet their brother was when it came to you.

‘All the more reason for you to move in.’ Damian said point blankly and you look at him oddly. Dick puts his hand on Damian’s shoulder, smiling reassuringly at you. ‘Damian only wishes you to be closer, for Jason’s sake and ours.’ You smiled at the pair of them from your position on Jason’s chest. ‘That’s sweet and all but i think it would be best if you guys left us alone for a couple hours, I can feel Jason shifting.’

With that being said dick, Tim, Damian, cass, Steph and duke were quick to shut the door and scatter across the manor, not knowing that they had fell for your trick so you could fall asleep with Jason without any interruptions. ‘You minx.’ He grumbles into your head as you kiss under his jaw.

‘Not my fault I want to spend time with my beautiful man.’ You replied as you got yourself comfortable and fell into a seamless sleep.

[gayasswitchbitch]

One Piece- Do they get jealous?

Synopsis: One piece headcannons! Do they get jealous when someone tries to flirt with you?

Ft: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Robin, Nami, Ace, and Law

Tw: none (I THINK) just insecure and jealous thoughts.

Luffy- He wouldn’t understand someone flirting in the first place. I think Nami would have to point out that another person is flirting with you, but even then he doesn’t get it. He would something along the lines of :

“There’s no way someone is flirting with y/n because they’re my partner! Geez.. you guys are dumb!”

He genuinely can’t fathom that someone would try to get with you when he is already with you!

Zoro- I don’t think so. He’s a very confident man and has a decent sized ego. He knows what he’s got. Hes not insecure enough to be jealous over someone liking you.

That being said, I don’t believe he’d just let someone flirt with you though. 100% ready to fight ESPECIALLY if someone puts their hands on you in any way. He’d tell them to back off because you’re taken maybe even a:

“Yeah my partner is really beautiful/handsome aren’t they?” with a smirk and an arm wrapped around your shoulder just to piss them off.

It’s his way of showing you off and making it known that he’s willing to throw down if needed, but he would most likely make another shitty comment and then leave with you in hand.

If they keep persisting though, then he’s going to get pissed off but he def tries to keep it cool before it gets to a fight breaking out.

Sanji- GOD YES. SO JEALOUS. Don’t even let mosshead BREATHE near you! Any time you give another person, specifically another man, attention he LOSES IT.

“Do you hate me, my love? Am I not good enough for you? Tell me what I can do better. I’ll do anything for you just please spare me a passing glance again! What could they give you that I can’t? I’d walk to the ends of the earth for you. I’d starve if it meant you could eat. My love please tell me you still love me!”

When all that happened was you were asking Usopp to help you with some gadget and it took too long in Sanji time. (Which was probably an hour)

He would def try to compete with anyone that did flirt. It was a fierce battle and there was no way he’s losing.

“Did you know that my y/n-swan loves the rain? You can always find her by a tree, blissfully meditating. They love it because it makes them feel like all their stress is being washed away. You can see it fall right off their shoulders. Did you also know that their favorite color is (whatever) ? You can always catch a twinkle in their eye anytime they see it. They have exactly 7 outfits in that color. Did you also know that they like to collect trinkets? They pick one up at every single place we stop the sunny at. Yeah I took it upon myself to be the one to find the trinkets now. Did you know that? Did you also know-“ and he wouldn’t stop.

I could even see him taking it as far as to tell them that they’re not good enough for and could never be good enough for you, then would immediately turn around and seek validation from you to make sure you love him and only him.

Robin- She doesn’t get jealous, she gets possessive. Babygirl has had everyone she loves taken from her so she’s making damn sure you’re not going away and that means you are by her side 24/7.

Most of the time no one even dares to think about flirting with you due to how scary she can be.

She’s a very observant woman. If someone liked you she would instantly spot it and give death stares.

If they still tried to approach you, she would be crossing her arms to take them out, smiling the entire time.

Nami- I think it would only happen if she genuinely thought someone was prettier than her and they were around you alot.

She would get sad and seek reassurance by trying to push your buttons. If that doesnt make her feel better then she would walk up to you and turn at glare at the person before wrapping her arms around your neck to pull you into a deep kiss. After she’s swirling around and giving a “Hmph.” And walking away.

Most of the time she knows she got it. If you wanna be stupid and cheat then it’s on you when she burns down all your belongings.

Ace- This man is already insecure as fuck and your ass is out here being fine as hell. It’s stressful because he knows you’re fine and he knows that other people know you’re fine. He’s like a damn guard dog that doesn’t stop barking. He finds ways to constantly bring you up and it’s a front to make sure everyone knows you’re taken.

“What was that? Oh yeah my partner is really smart! I’m so proud of you babe!”

“Man look at my partner. They’re so strong!”

If he sees someone flirting he gets an instant wave of anxiety. What if you finally realize there’s other people better suited for you out there? What if you finally see that he’s nothing special and that you should move on? What if you see that he’s really not as handsome as you think he is? And what if you think this person is more handsome/pretty? What if they’re funnier? What if he never gets to be the one to put a smile on your face again? Then it’s breakdown time. This happens at least twice a month. He will go on about how he doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve to be here, doesn’t deserve so much goodness when his blood is so corrupt.

Just remind that baby that you’re with him because you love him, you do think he’s the most handsome and it’s insane that he doesn’t see it, that he’s the only person that can make you laugh so hard and so on and he’s good for another month. This only lasts for maybe the first year or so. The more you reassure him, the more confident he gets in your love and starts realizing he is worth of it.

Sabo- Like Robin, he’s more possessive. He will politely laugh along with any onlookers while you’re around and thank them for complimenting you, but as soon as you’re not in the room it’s near death threats.

“Look, I understand y/n is very beautiful/handsome.. but you try and flirt with them again and it’ll be the last thing you ever do”

He says it so calmly, eyes so wide, that it’s actually terrifying.

I could also see him being much more calm about it and making some obscure lie to make them go away like telling them you have a contagious disease and then forcefully coughing until they run away. He’d walk back to the base laughing his ass off too.

Law- I wouldnt say he gets jealous.. he gets irritated. He knows when someone is flirting with you and as long as they don’t take it to physical touching he won’t do anything. He trusts you and knows where you two stand but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t cause burning pain in his chest.

Bepo may point out what’s happening and he’s like:

“I’m aware. If they needed help they would say.” But it’s honestly taking all his strength not to strangle the person.

Sachi and Penguin might stir the pot and ask their captain what he would do if you were enjoying it, which was an awful idea. Now he’s slammed a hand on the table and clenching his jaw.

“They don’t.” He says through gritted teeth.

“But-“

One word. The one ‘but’ was all it took for Law to jump out of his seat, rush over to you and grab your hand into his roughly.

“Come on. We’re leaving.”

If you tried to hesitate he’d whip his head around and give you a stare. One you know that if you disobey you’ll be scrubbing the deck for the next week. So he’s taking you back to the ship and throwing you against his office door in a heated kiss.

[eclipseslayer]

SIT. DRINK.

➭ TOJI FUSHIGURO X F!READER SMUT ONESHOT

➭ SUMMARY: Your dad calls you over to sit in front of him, and he orders you to finish off his beer. Enthused with your obedience, he takes advantage of that.

➭ CW: DARK CONTENT. Incest, forced drinking, cockwarming, deep throating, Toji is meanish, Toji calls you 'kid' and 'sweetheart'.

➭ WC: 1.5kish

➭ A/N: Hello! I've done a drabble with icky!dad!Toji before, and honestly I really like doing them... so I'm wondering if I should make a series/compilation or something with icky!dad!Toji?? 👀 lmk in the comments or my ask box!! :) N e wayz enjoyyy.

"Come 'ere. Sit."

Toji points at the floor in front of him with his beer bottle, and you look up from your book you're reading.

Your eyes widen and you swallow thickly, knowing your dad wants something. It always puts a little fear in you, because your dad is disgusting. He's a grumpy, divorced, old man who got stuck with some kid out of wedlock, who happened to be you, so now he treats you like some sort of object, something to be used.

As much as you loathe him for it, a part of you actually loves it, though you don't think you'd ever admit that to yourself, at least, not out loud.

You close your book, and you get up. You slowly walk over to him, carpet brushing against the soles of your feet as you drag them, trying to take your time as you walk over to the old man.

Toji sees you taking your sweet time and he scoffs. He points to the floor again, and his beer sloshes in his bottle.

"I said, sit," his tone is harsher this time, almost spitting out his words.

With a huff, you nod and you pick up your pace. You then plop yourself onto your knees in front of your dad, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow, already knowing what he wants.

He leans back against the couch to get a good view of you. A wry grin appears etched onto his face as that scar of his quirks up, and those green eyes of his darken while a drunken gaze drinks in the sight of you.

His gaze makes you nervous, as you hardly ever know what he wants from you. You know you're here to be used, but you just don't know how, and that's what makes you so nervous. His jade eyes always make your heart thump in your chest as they always have something conniving cooking.

Suddenly, he thrusts his bottle out to you and he presses the glass opening of it against your lips. You blink quickly as you catch a quick whiff of the beer—cheap, and wheaty—and look back up at him.

"Drink. Finish this off for me."

"I—" You're about to try to defend yourself, as you're not looking to drink tonight, but your dad tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly. He reaches out and grips the root of your hair with his free hand and pushes your mouth against the tip of the glass bottle, forcing it into your mouth.

"I said, drink. Jesus, are you having a hard time hearing me tonight?" He mutters, and his words slur, clearly drunk.

You let out a whine and a grumble and you tilt your head back, allowing for the liquid to pour into your throat. There's about a half of the bottle left, so Toji makes you chug it, and he watches with narrowed as eyes as you drink.

"There we go... good girl..."

Fuck. You hated it when he praised you. He only praised you whenever you did his "evil" bidding, which is why you didn't mind doing it so much. You loved the praise, and he knew it, which is why you're so obedient to him. It's a constant cycle of you needing praise, and receiving it after you do something for him, and, you couldn't get enough. Sometimes, some of the things he made you do felt so good that you truly hadn't minded at all.

It was toxic, but... you honestly couldn't get enough of it, which is also why you hadn't moved out of the house yet.

His praise was addicting.

Once you finish the beer, your mouth leaves the bottle with a satisfying pop, and Toji hums. He runs a hand through your hair and sighs as he places the empty bottle with the rest of them, on the stand next to the couch.

He pats your face with a large, calloused hand and sighs, leaning against the couch again. His large frame takes up the majority of it, and his thick long legs are spread out in a man-spread.

He reaches down into his pants and you hear the faint sound of scratching. He yawns, looking at the TV briefly before turning his head back to you. You look at him, awaiting further instructions, and he chuckles, and you assume another idea has popped into his head.

"You got an oral fixation, right, sweetheart?" He slurs, and, honestly doesn't care if you do or not as he starts pulling down his sweatpants, the hem of them fits around his thighs so well.

"I... yes, I do," you reply, watching him as he now takes his hand and slides down his underwear around his thighs, as he reveals his, big, hard cock, sitting heavily on his stomach.

Toji raises an eyebrow and he hiccups. He nods and sighs. "That's right... I knew ya did, kid. I know you like suckin' on my dick, but you just don't wanna admit it, right?" He grins, and he watches as you shift on your knees, your gaze averting his. His grin widens.

"Ah, knew it," he sighs, and he leans forward with his cock in one hand, and presses the tip against your mouth, and, so willingly, you open it up for him, accepting him into your mouth.

He groans once he feels your warm, wet mouth, and he closes his eyes, leaning his head back. He takes a minute before he looks down at you.

"Just keep your mouth like this for me while I watch TV. I'll get you a fuckin' candy bar or somethin' if you suck me off," he chuckles, and you furrow your eyebrows because he still treats you like a little kid, rewarding you with dumb shit.

Nevertheless, you sigh, accepting this as you keep him in your mouth. Not like you're going to complain anyway. This was one of your favorite things to do for your dad, simply because it just felt so good to have something so thick fill up your mouth.

So, you sit for awhile as he leans back against the couch, watching TV. You don't move your mouth—just enjoying how good he feels—for about ten minutes until you feel your jaw start to hurt.

That's when you start moving your head, pushing your mouth all the way to his pelvis, and then pulling back until you're suckling on his tip.

Toji groans at this and turns his head back to you. He sighs, and he grips your hair, and begins guiding your wet mouth along his cock.

He revels in the feeling of your mouth, enjoying how tight and warm it gets when you hallow your cheeks, and when you do that little thing with your tongue.

His head leans back, looking down at you as he admires how good you look, sucking on his cock. Sure, it was wrong, but that was why he drank, to get the mental block out of his head so he could easily get his dick wet. You were never one to say no. Hell, he wasn't sure why you were so easy, but he wasn't going to knock the opportunity.

You, on the other hand, are having such a good time as you moan softly on his cock, loving the feeling of how good he feels in your mouth. He feels so good that you're drooling on his cock, making a mess of it all over his length. You soon add your hand to the mix, pumping the length of his shaft while your mouth drools all over the tip, licking and sucking so fervently that it has Toji cursing under his breath.

"Shit, kid, fuck, your mouth does such a good job..." He groans and a big hand grips your hair tightly once more, guiding you along his cock, except, he decides to cruelly change the pace up, making it so his cock hits the back of your throat.

You let out a gag in surprise, your eyes widening and your hands quickly move to grip his thighs. His thick cock bullies into the back of your throat as you let out choked moans.

Saliva coats his dick, and drips down to his balls as you're uncontrollably salivating all over him, simply because that big tip of his bruises the back of your throat, allowing for no control over your mouth.

He groans with almost every thrust, and his breath gets heavy. He chuckles as he sees you struggle to take him, your hands gripping his thighs so tightly that he finds it so hilarious as he lets out yet another mean chuckle.

"That's right... gonna cum in this mouth, yeah? How's that for ya?" He grins wickedly, and, with one, two, three more thrusts, he slams your nose against his pelvis, leaving you choking on his dick as his cum suddenly spurts into your mouth. Load after load fills your throat, and you swallow it quickly.

Your nose scrunches up at the taste, as it damn near tastes like battery acid from the amount of beer he just had. You want to choke it up, but you know better, and so you swallow each spurt of cum until he rips his cock out of your throat.

He watches with a satisfied gaze as you choke for air, leaning over his thighs.

"Good girl." He reaches down into his pants pocket and fishes out a couple yen bills. "Go buy a candy bar at the corner store or somethin'. I don't fuckin' know."