#My Head Has a Bellyache

[kingsbridgelibraryteens]

Middle School Monday: My Head Has a Bellyache And More Nonsense For MIschievous Kids and Immature Grown-Ups by Chris Harris illustrated by Andrea Tsurumi 

This poetry collection contains a weird and hilarious selection of poems, including poems that can be read out loud by multiple voices, a haiku limerick, a limerick haiku, and even an awesome book-within-a-book. While the poems themselves are very entertaining, make sure to also check out the subject index at the end of the book. Subjects include larger categories like anger and fire, and sub-categories like Brothers (The kind that can be annoying sometimes) and Dancing (While trying to take off your pants).

Give this book to readers of ALL AGES who love laughing at the silliest things!

[willowfey]

.

[fangisms]

If you take requests can you write a fic about draco wanting the reader's attention all day but someone or something something always getting in the way ? Bonus if he gets a lil moody about it too

(Feel free to ignore if a bother tho ♡) :)

bellyaching

A/N: you GUYS i cranked this out in an afternoon, do u understand im OBSESSED with moody draco

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Draco is desperate for your attention, and desperate times call for desperate Slytherins. 1.1k words

Warnings: fluff, very very minor boy angst, slytherin behavior, moody/dramatic draco, established relationship

“Babe.”

It’s hushed, Draco doesn’t want to catch Flitwick’s attention while trying to grab yours. But it’s not easy when you’re seated in the row in front of him, and he’s desperately leaning over his workspace to reach you.

“Baby,” he mumbles, and you glance over your shoulder with a start. Then, smiling, you wave, and he’s soothed for just a moment. You turn back around and he’s practically pouting. He taps your shoulder with the paper rose he had so painstakingly folded for you. He’s got the paper cuts to prove it.

Draco taps your shoulder with the stem. You turn your head and hold one finger to your lips. You shushed him. You shushed him. He settles back in his seat, arms folded over his chest, wilted paper rose forgotten on his desk.

…

After class, you’re walking beside him, arm happily tucked within his as he escorts you to your Advanced Mythology lesson. Though he’s feeling a little deflated, having you near makes him feel better. And realizing that you’ve got a few minutes to spare before next class, he pulls you to the side of the hall, abandoning his friends to walk ahead.

Tucked beneath one of the awnings, he holds your books beneath his arm and pulls you closer.

“Draco!” you yelp, resisting his onslaught of hurried kisses, “We have class, remember? It’s that thing we are required to attend five days a week? We learn a lot of subjects? Sometimes they give us lunch hour—?”

“We’ll have plenty of time to get to class,” he huffs, pecking your bottom lip and the apple of your cheek.

“Draco, you’ve been late to nearly all of your classes because of—”

“Not because of you. I am solely responsible for my tardiness—ow!” You pinch his side and giggle when he slumps into your shoulder—“‘S not fair you’re so kissable.”

You roll your eyes and press your lips to the side of his sad face, “fine. You can have one kiss. Make it quick.”

At that, Draco perks up. You playfully pucker your lips, and as he leans in—You’ve got to be kidding.

“There you are! Come on, we’ve only got five minutes to get to class, and I’d rather not be forced to polish anymore silver!” Pansy grabs you by the crook of your elbow, dragging you out into hall. You wave at Draco and quickly catch up with Pansy.

For Merlin’s sake, is he not allowed one moment alone with his beloved.

…

The rest of the day goes just as smooth. As in not smooth at all. As in Draco’s day has been a complete shit show, and you’ve been otherwise occupied for just about every second of it.

First, he face plants during a scrimmage. Then, you tell him you’re using the afternoon to study with the girls in the library. You said he’s welcome to join but he knows that means he would be the only male attending and, therefore, it would be excruciatingly awkward.

Suffice to say, he’s spent the last few hours sulking and moaning to himself. Enzo thinks it’s hilarious.

When you finally sit next to him at dinner, he’s still stewing in his anger. Yes, it’s gotten to anger.

“Good evening, dear Draco!” you coo. And he’s clearly not having it, picking away at his food and only acknowledging you with a curt huff. You look to Theodore in shock, eyes wide when he shrugs.

“He’s been like this all day,” Mattheo says, “Think you could be a dear and fix him for us?”

You look over at Draco, who’s taken to scowling at the two boys. So you brush his hair out of his face and flatten his hood against his back.

“What’s wrong? I feel like I haven’t seen you all day?” you say, tilting your head. He huffs.

“I think you mean you’ve been ignoring me all day.”

“Draco!” you say, surprised by his sudden volume and honestly amused by his apparent lack of awareness. “What’s with the attitude?” He doesn’t respond, so you cross your arms over your chest. At this point, you’ve got the entire Great Hall’s attention. And winner for most dramatic couple goes to… “Come on, Draco, don’t just sit there and sulk, talk to me!”

“Oh, now you want to talk? Are you sure? Maybe you should go and study with your friends or read a book or do anything other than ask me how my day has been,” he whines. Enzo can’t help but snicker.

Your jaw drops, and you mumble, "Lower your voice, drama queen, I’m—"

“No, I’ve been trying to spend time with you all day, and you just shrug me off and find something better to do! What if I wanted to walk you to class and study with you?”

“We can still study together this week.”

“That’s not the point, babe. I wanted to spend time with you today,” he says, defeated and back to prodding at his meal tirelessly.

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I had no idea”—you list his hand from the edge of the table and fit your fingers gently between his own—“I didn’t mean to starve you of attention. How careless of me.”

Draco presses his thumb against your hand, and he just barely turns his head to look at you.

“You’re teasing me,” he huffs. You look down at your hands and smile.

“A little,” you say, “But I am sorry. I should have listened to you. And asked you about your day. How was it by the way?”

“Ate complete shit out on the pitch. Found out I’m too needy for my girlfriend. Other than that, just peachy.”

“Draco,” you whine, pouting and cupping his face. “I’m sorry. And you’re not too needy for me, I’m just a bit daft.”

He shrugs, trying not to smile so wide and failing. Just happy to have you near him again.

“Oh, I have something for you”—he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the floppy rose—“Made it in charms.”

You hold its fragile, wrinkled frame in your cupped hands, frowning at it then at him.

“You made this for me?”

“Yeah. And it says ‘you look pretty’ on the inside, but I think if you try to unfold it, it’ll actually disintegrate,” he says.

You lean in swiftly for a kiss, but pause on the way.

“You two? Look away,” you grumble at Theo and Mattheo, snapping a spell against both of their cheeks. They wince and apologize, and Draco snickers.

He kisses you, tugging at your open robe and smiling against your lips when you reach for his other hand.

masterlist

[the-duchess-of-domination]

Thanksgiving

here is a Thanksgiving fantasy to put you all in the mood.

your boyfriend is a people pleaser who has a hard time saying no. he fears disappointing people, and because of that you’ve got quite the line-up of Thanksgiving dinner invites: Friendsgiving with your mutual friends, Thanksgiving with his folks, Thanksgiving at your parent’s, a Thanksgiving dinner at his work. it’s a week long affair, and you’ve even got multiple dinners in one day with little time to recover. you slave away in the kitchen, making a new dish to bring to each dinner. your boyfriend, of course, is your taste tester.

the first dinner at your parent’s house is uneventful. this is his first holiday with your family, so he wants to make a good impression. he fervently eats anything that is put in front of him, and even though he doesn’t have room left for your mother’s sweet potato pie, he eats two slices.

the next day his work is having a Thanksgiving dinner. he brings you to meet his coworkers, and he wants to schmooze and charm them so much he takes a helping of Tanya’s mash potatoes, Carl’s filling, Genevieve’s green bean casserole. Not wanting to offend anyone, he fills a flimsy paper plate with so much food that it begins to bend. against all odds, every bite ends up in his rapidly tightening belly.

now it’s Thanksgiving Day, and you’ve got his family’s Thanksgiving in the early afternoon and your mutual Friendsgiving in the evening. your boyfriend’s mother gives him hearty scoops. that’s her little boy, after all. your boyfriend is noticeably petering out, but he doesn’t want to make his mother worry. he finishes his plate with an achingly full stomach, trained from the days of when he was a kid and wasn’t allowed to leave the dinner table without finishing his supper.

when it’s time for you to head to your Friendsgiving, you drive, and he sits in the passenger seat with his head against the headrest, wincing and cringing at every pothole you hit.

“you okay?” you ask him. “you’ve been awfully quiet.”

“yeah. just tired.” he lies.

at Friendsgiving, he listlessly plays with his turkey, pushing it around his plate with a fork, an elbow on the table and a hand supporting his head. while he doesn’t empty the plate, he hardly has anything to scrape into the trash.

when everyone retires to the living room, your boyfriend disappears. you search your friend’s house and see the bathroom door is closed. you knock.

“honey?” you say.

“hm?” your boyfriend replies.

“can i come in?”

“one sec.”

when you enter your boyfriend is sitting on the edge of the tub. he stands up quickly.

“what are you doing in here?” you ask.

“i just needed a minute.”

you look down to see a sliver of his white underwear. he zips up his fly, and sucks in his distended stomach to button his pants.

“are you okay?”

“yeah. it’s nothing. i just have a stomachache.”

you find this adorable. in an effort to get on everyone’s good side, to flatter them by eating their food, your boyfriend has given himself a terrible bellyache.

while your friends laugh over a card game at the coffee table, your boyfriend is distracted on the sofa, rubbing his stomach through the pocket of his hoodie. you put your hand in the pocket and start rubbing his belly, touching his cold hand with your warm one. his poor belly is hard and tight from everything he’s eaten in the past four days.

“does it hurt bad?” you whisper, and when he nods you say “do you want to leave early?”

he shakes his head. “we’re supposed to be having fun with our friends. i don’t want us to leave on my account.”

a mutual friend brings over a slice of pumpkin pie topped with whip cream. she offers it to your boyfriend. in horror you watch your boyfriend beam a fake smile and then graciously take the plate from her. the fork goes in his mouth. you feel his body shudder and his stomach growl angrily against your hand

what will Christmas bring?

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter three : the smitten paladin (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 4.6k

summary : reader does some reading

warnings, etc. : language, sexual fantasy, masturbation

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

You’re starting to think the planet isn’t the reason you’re so hot all the time.

You had woken up this morning feeling a bit better than you thought you’d be, your stomach is full of butterflies but you're still standing and considering the night you had you’re gonna take that as a win. Elaine and Lysa both seemed to sense that you were back in slightly better spirits and Lysa doesn’t bother to ask as she fetches you a dress that isn’t blue. You want to protest when she emerges from the closet with a simple green gown but you bite your tongue. Maybe he’ll like it. 

You don’t care. Why should you care? Why the hell are you already sweating? Nothing has changed. He did one nice thing for you, so you forgive him. But you still don’t care. 

Well… you care enough to ask them to leave your hair down, which they do. And you care enough to ask them to leave your face alone. (Save for some thin golden eyeliner.) You dismiss the girls with a thank you and give yourself just a moment alone. 

You’re going to have a normal day. Not a great day, and not a good day. Just a normal day. You are going to go to the library today and you’re going to read. And you are going to talk to the Mandalorian. You are going to patch things up. Oh gods, what if he doesn’t want to patch things up? What if he thinks you’re just some unstable, bellyaching princess? Stop caring what he thinks. Normal day. Just go out there before he comes in here. 

You take the book he had given you and you tuck it under your arm as you go out to greet him. As expected, he is there, just outside the door, and as expected he doesn’t speak first, so you do it instead. 

“Good morning, Mando.” 

He takes his time, observing your mood, his visor trained on you. You suddenly feel feverish. 

“Morning, princess.” His voice is careful, almost like he’s testing the waters. You don’t know how to tell him you aren’t mad anymore, or that you’re okay now. You’re pretty sure both are true. So you just head towards the library.  

“Come on sparkles.” Is all you say as you start walking. The silence isn’t necessarily comfortable but at least it feels bearable. Once there you settle into your familiar positions, you, seated in the reading nook, him, pulling up a chair across from you. You hopelessly want to say something but you don’t want to come off as desperate, and honestly you’re so anxious at this point you’re worried you’ll throw up if you try to speak. So you take out the book, making sure he can see the cover. Hoping he takes it as a peace offering, you pick it up from chapter two, where you’d left off after last night. And that is how you stay for several hours.

You read, flipping through the chapters of what ends up being a pretty corny book. It’s a predictable tale of forbidden love, the daughter of a blacksmith falling in love with a knight, blah blah blah, a little dull but entertaining enough to keep your attention for the most part. So much so that you’re able to completely forget that your every move is being watched. 

Almost. 

Because you get to chapter six, and suddenly, the book is… raunchier than you expected it to be. 

And it’s sweltering in the library out of nowhere and you’re pretty sure you can’t blame Naboo this time. 

You’re hyper aware of him now. 

That he’s watching you. Well he’s always watching you, always has been, but now you can’t stop thinking about it because you’re sitting here, reading porn, and he’s sitting there, watching you. 

You should close the book, take a break, get some water. 

But you don’t. 

Because suddenly the book is kind of good. For some reason you’re suddenly engrossed by the story of Oskar and Dorthea. That’s what you tell yourself. That you are captivated by the storytelling, not the way Oskar’s large hands are currently clutching Dorthea’s heaving bosom. You wonder if Oskar is wearing gloves when he does it. You should stop reading. 

You can’t do this. 

But… you have been neglecting certain urges of yours since arriving on Naboo. And now it’s been over three weeks and to say that you’re pent up would be putting it lightly. 

So what’s the harm in reading something a little risqué? It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong, after all life as a newlywed wasn't exactly going the way you thought it would, so maybe this would help relieve a little bit of the stress that you’re very obviously suffering from at this point. So you allow yourself to read on, and everything is fine until she starts taking off his armor, because you can see a certain armor wearing nuisance sitting just over the top of your book. You start imagining it before you can stop yourself and the all too familiar heat washes over you.

This is the part where you remind yourself to stop.

Or… 

You could indulge, just this once. There’s nothing wrong with that, an innocent little fantasy. It will help you enjoy your book more if you imagine the characters more clearly. And it’s so easy after that, to imagine Oskar the paladin in Beskar, funnily enough he really does remind you of Mando. He’s sarcastic and he’s witty but he is also rather gentle with the blacksmith's daughter when he needs to be. 

He’s also quite rough with her when he needs to be. 

You can’t help but wonder if Mando is similar to Oskar in that regard as well. 

Okay you definitely can’t do this.

Unless of course you’re thinking about Oskar. There’s nothing wrong with that. He isn’t real. You can fantasize about him and it would be perfectly acceptable. You should do that instead. Fantasize about the not real character in your book and not on the very real Mandalorian sitting several feet away from you. 

Just for a minute. Just to help relieve some of the tension that has been building in your body for weeks now. This is the smart and healthy thing to do, lest it spiral completely out of control. This is a good thing, this will dissipate the fog that has been clouding your judgment. 

So you think about Oskar. Just Oskar. Stare at the pages of your book and think about Oskar. Tall, dark, and handsome Oskar.

He’s probably downright barbaric with it. Probably takes what he wants, he’s such a jackass. You bet he gives it just as hard as he takes it though, that overconfident prick probably loves it when you just fall to pieces for him. 

Not you.

Dorthea. 

Not him.

Oskar.

Think about Oskar. 

Is he vocal? He’s always so quiet but when he does talk it’s like he can’t shut up. You get the sense that he likes feeling smarter than you. Or whoever it is you’re imaging in this scenario. He’d probably be just as rude in the bedroom. Just absolutely wreck you and then call you sweet names and his words would be kind and warm but he would use that condescending tone he uses when he knows he’s winning, and he’s always winning. You hate that he’s always winning, maybe you should come up with some rehearsed comebacks. Or would that be lame? He’d probably see right through that.

Oskar. You’re thinking about Oskar. 

For Makers sake think about Oskar.

Oskar probably doesn’t have the patience to undo Dorthea’s complicated dresses. He probably just rips them right off of her, Oskar probably doesn’t even take the time to remove his helmet. For no reason in particular. He probably leaves it on, too consumed by his feral, untamed, need to ravage her. To devour her entirely with his hands, his stupid, pointlessly, gloved hands. He might lift the helmet enough just to bite the fingertips of the gloves to rip them off as swiftly as possible. Or maybe he’d let you- Dorthea , sink her teeth into them, make her remove them. 

It’s unbearably hot now, and people sweat when they get hot.

That’s what you tell yourself when you feel a wetness pooling in a place you cannot think about right now lest you tear your dress off right here in front of him in the library to deal with it. 

He could push you up against the shelves, no one ever comes in here. He could bend you over the reading nook you were currently sitting atop, or you could just join him in that chair, stare down into his visor and let him know who’s in charge. 

Because you hate him. Obviously.

You want to be in charge because you know he’d detest that. You want to watch him melt in your hands, beg you for more. That’s the only reason. To see him reduced to nothing but a man, not this statue of steel and wit that he is constantly portraying. Just a man, you want to be the one thing on this entire stupid planet that makes him nothing but a man.

You definitely aren’t thinking about Oskar right now. 

This doesn’t mean anything. 

Stars, what has gotten into you today? You need to get laid. That’s gotta be it. Back on Hoth you were a princess without a husband, it was easy to find boys in your colony who would happily bed you whenever you desired. But not here, here you have a husband who won’t bed you, (thank the gods.) and an unbearable bodyguard who you can’t even see the face of so Maker why can’t you stop thinking about him. You could go to the market in the city, probably find a vibrator or something pretty easily. But you’re the princess of a very respected royal family now, you can’t exactly go strolling into a sex shop in broad daylight. And then of course there’s the Mando of it all. You can’t help but wonder what his reaction to that would be, would he follow you into that kind of establishment? He’d have to, right? He’s followed you everywhere else. What would he think if he saw you buying yourself a toy to keep you company? He has to know at this point that Kodo isn’t exactly satisfying your needs. He has to understand that you have needs, most people have needs. Does Mando have needs?

Does he ever think about your needs when he’s satisfying his?

Don’t. 

You have to say it to yourself now. 

Your face is surely bright red at this point, you consider if that’s something he likes. Does he like how easily riled up you are? How flustered you get at just the thought of him? Okay you were certainly overindulging at this point. You had to stop, there has to be a line and that line certainly is imagining what he might find attractive.

“Why don’t you try sounding it out.” He catches you off guard, unmoving as he speaks. 

“What?” Maker, are you panting? Pull yourself together woman. 

“I assume you’re stuck on a word, you’ve been on that page for nearly 15 minutes. Try sounding it out.”

Usually this behavior from him is the perfect thing to stop any untoward thoughts. Why isn’t it working? Why do you suddenly wanna shut him up in a completely different way?

“You’re a funny guy, have you considered being a comedian or do you just really like being a glorified babysitter?” 

“I really like being a glorified babysitter.” He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. You loathe him. 

“Lucky you.” 

“Lucky me.” 

At least things are okay between you two. Things seem okay. This is normal. There’s a relief to be found in knowing that your relationship, (albeit antagonistic) seems to be repaired. That is until he of course has to ruin it by opening his mouth. 

“How’s the book?”

Great.

“It’s good. Thank you for returning it to me…” 

“Of course.” You hope he’ll drop it but it’s him so of course he doesn’t. “What’s it about?” You can hear the faux innocence practically dripping through the modulator. There’s no way he’s actually doing this. 

“I don’t think you’d like it.” 

“Why not? You have no idea what I like.”

Okay this has gone from inappropriate to downright intimate. What's his end goal here? You know that he can’t seriously be doing this. Maybe he’s playing some sort of game with you? Maybe he’s playing a game of chicken, if that’s the case then you certainly aren’t going to lose, and let him win? Hell no. 

“It might be a little too intense for you.” You raise a single eyebrow, his move.

“Oh really? How so?” He leans back in the chair now. For Makers sake does he have to spread his legs so obscenely wide. 

“Isn’t there some kind of Mandalorian vow of celibacy?” You have no idea but you plaster a naive look on your face. 

“Nothing in the creed about that, princess.” How does he make the word princess sound so vulgar? Why is there a rush of molten heat through your veins when you find out he isn’t celibate. 

This doesn’t mean anything. 

“Oh? But I thought you weren’t allowed to take the armor off?” This shouldn’t make you perspire as much as you are. You aren’t doing anything wrong, you’re having a conversation, it’s not like you’re cheating on your husband by having a conversation. 

“Just the helmet.” You knew that, of course, but it’s still a shame. You’d love to give his mouth something to do other than taunt you. 

You need to get out of this library. 

“Oh.” Great quick thinking. Real impressive comeback you moron. 

“So?”

“So…?” 

“The book, what’s it about?” 

Of course he isn’t going to drop this. You should lie, this conversation can escalate very quickly if you’re not careful and considering how close you are to sticking your hand up your dress right here in front of him, you better be careful. 

“It’s a cute little love story about a girl and a knight.” 

He hums softly like he’s considering something while you consider lobbing the book at his head. 

“Sounds charming.” Not a good sign that you can hear the derisive tone through the modulator already. “So what are you stuck on?”

Your eyes meet the page you’d left open while you were daydreaming, you manage to keep a straight face but you’re not exactly sure how you’re gonna ad-lib your way out of this seeing as Dorthea is currently bent over a hay bale in the stables and Oskar is currently “thrusting his pulsing member into her damp maidenhood.” Maker, this book is garbage. 

You know what, why not push back? He always manages to tease you into silence or reduce you to a stuttering blushing mess, so why not grab at this chance to get the upper hand? He’s not the only one who can catch people off guard. 

“I wasn’t really stuck on anything… I suppose I was just trying to figure out how he fits it all in there?” You hold out the book at arms length and turn it ninety degrees. It isn’t a picture book but you still think it’s a bit funny to furrow your brow and pretend. 

It works, he’s silent. Too silent, you worry you’ve gone too far again but after a few beats the modulator crackles to life once more.

“Didn’t realize the book had pictures, I must have missed them.” He crosses his arms and tilts his head ever so slightly. 

Dank farrik. Why couldn’t you go one conversation without him dropping some ridiculous bomb that makes you look like an idiot, it’s like he’s dedicating his days to outsmarting you rather than protecting you. More importantly, you need to address the bantha in the room.

“You read this?” You don’t bother hiding the disbelief on your face, he already knows he’s got you so what's the point. 

“You’re not the only one who’s bored, princess, when you’re alone, I’m alone with you. One of the many perks of silently standing behind you all the time. Someone had to go clean up the books you dropped, thought I’d give one of them a read.” You can’t believe this.

“So you’ve read The Smitten Paladin? ” The confusion muddling your brain right now is downright overwhelming, worst of all is now you can’t stop thinking about him reading the filth you’ve been enjoying. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell you how it ends.”

Maker, you want to chuck the book at him so bad right now, but you know it won’t stop his smug tone that fills the air between you. You need to get out, you need to be in your chambers and far, far away from the obnoxious, egotistical, self-righteous Mandalorian. So you stand up and close the book and start walking, of course he’s fluid in the way he matches you, almost like he anticipated your departure.

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to spoil the happy ending.” Is all you can mutter out as you make haste towards your chambers, refusing to look at him the entire way. 

This doesn’t mean anything. ✩

You cannot lock your door fast enough. You don’t bother turning on any lamps, you just collapse down on the edge of the bed and hike your dress up, no sense in wasting half an hour trying to get it off, not when there are far more important matters to attend to regarding getting off.  

You waste no time shoving your hand down the front of you underwear, you’ve never been so thankful for all of the layers in your gowns because you’re soaked through your panties, you’re fingers are small and nimble so you easily swipe two digits through your folds, scooping up a bit of your wetness, back already arching as you just say fuck it and bury both fingers into your cunt. 

The shaky sigh that leaves your lips is downright pornographic. Three weeks of pent up frustration all crashing down on you now as you bring your other hand up to cover your mouth, you start grinding against your palm, haphazardly doing everything in your power to put some friction against your swollen clit. Your hand can’t muffle your moans entirely as you curl your fingers against that spot that makes you sob into your wrist, you bite down onto the meat of your palm just below your thumb but you can’t stop the noises that slip from you as you curl your fingers a bit faster, thrusting them in and out of your drenched hole. 

You wish your fingers were thicker, there’s barely any stretch with how small yours are, you can hit all the spots you need to push yourself towards that delectable edge but you can’t help but crave a little more. You don’t even bother trying to stop the inevitable, you’re too far gone at this point. Might as well let your mind wander to what it needs to to finish the job.

After all, it doesn’t mean anything. 

How long does he wait outside your door before dismissing himself? With his helmet’s capabilities he could certainly hear what’s going on in here, is he out there right now? Eavesdropping as you fuck your own hand. Is he straining against his flight suit as he stands on the other side of that wall. Acting like he’s there to defend you when in reality he just wants to listen in, give himself to think about later. Or is he just palming himself through his trousers, not wanting to wait. 

Realistically he went back to his own chambers the moment you closed the door. 

You might be giving yourself a little too much credit but it’s your fantasy so you get to think whatever you need to get you there. Like why is the helmet kind of hot now? Was it always hot or are you just really horny right now? There’s just something so erotic about not being able to see his face, not being able to read his emotions behind the steel facade he puts up. He’s got so many utilities and attachments, it must be hard to get through all the layers. Might be nice if he left most of it on, took off just enough to get the job done. Does he have cuffs? If he’s an ex-bounty hunter he probably has cuffs. You know he has a blaster and a bunch of other weapons you don’t fully understand, you kind of wish someone would ambush you just so you could see him in action. Honestly he’s so terrifying to most people you’re pretty sure you might go your entire life without being attacked. He definitely has cuffs. He could storm in right now, cuff your hands above your head and finish what you started.

His fingers would probably work better than yours. You rock your hips down against your hand now as you can feel yourself slipping just the tiniest bit closer to that edge. You haven’t seen his hands but you can imagine. Even without the gloves just one of his fingers was probably as thick as the two you were working in and out of yourself currently. 

Maker, with the gloves on he would probably have to work to get just one finger inside you. 

You cum embarrassingly fast at the thought. It actually catches you off guard as you grind your palm against your clit just so and you’re seeing stars, soaking your already drenched panties as you withdraw your hand and collapse in a heap onto the bed, wiping your fingers off on the sheets. (You don’t sleep in this bed anyway so who cares.) 

You decide it’s best to ignore anything you thought about in your sex-crazed state. You can’t be held accountable for anything you think of to get yourself across the finish line, you aren’t yourself in those circumstances. 

It doesn’t mean anything.

It can’t mean anything. 

Minds wander, people think of all sorts of things when they’re blinded by lust. Hell, back home you’d once thought about a medical droid to get you there.

So it doesn’t matter.

And it certainly doesn’t mean anything, you were pent up, you see him all the time, now that you’ve taken care of it, it won’t happen again.

Now that you’ve taken care of that you’re sure you’ll be back to normal, no more day dreaming about unattainable men who you despise. You close your eyes for a few minutes. Chest heaving as you struggle to fully recover from your hasty orgasm. 

You give yourself some time to just lay like that, eyes closed, trying to steady your breath, you probably shouldn’t sleep, you haven’t gone to dinner yet but after such a shamefully swift and powerful climax you're positively drained. (Literally and figuratively.) So it won’t kill you to close your eyes for a few minutes. 

You don’t know how much time passes but before you even know what’s happening you're standing in front of the mirror, hair disheveled. 

You can’t get your dress off, can’t twist your arms behind you to reach the corset laces. You don’t want to wake Elaine or Lysa, you aren’t sure how late it is but you just can’t seem to unlace the bodice by yourself, you’re considering just sleeping in the infernal thing at this point. In your struggle you don’t hear the door open but you watch in the mirror as a familiar silver figure envelops you. How long had he been out there? What the hell was he doing here at this time of night?

“You look like you need a little help there princess.” The familiar crackle of the modulator consumes your senses, watching in the reflection of the mirror you can see the slow and deliberate removal of his gloves as he undoes your bodice, with a practiced agility. Everything is fuzzy. You want so badly to drink in every part of him that he is willing to give to you but it’s almost too much for your brain to comprehend right now. He takes his time with it, like he’s drawing it out. Tenderly pulling every string loose until you can slip out of the gown with ease. 

You let it fall to the ground. 

He stares at you in your reflection, his large bare hands wrap themselves around your exposed midriff as you’re left only in your undergarments for his eyes to devour. He’s so leisurely about it, not wanting to miss an inch. His fingertips dance across the bare skin of your stomach, it takes every ounce of restraint in you to not arch yourself back against him, you can’t stand the way he makes you want to throw your dignity to the wind. With the two of you facing the mirror like this you can see everything. His thumb begins to stroke the lace of your bra ever so slightly while his other hand skims against your sternum. His touches were so light that if you weren’t having a physical reaction to them you wouldn’t even be truly sure he was touching you at all. 

“Did you wear that pretty dress for me, princess?” Maker, you must have died and gone to heaven. His voice, his stupid voice. His stupid gravely voice that left you weak in the knees no matter how often you heard it. “You looked so good, I knew you’d wear green today, so eager to please me…” The baritone of it goes straight to your core, and speaking of straight to your core, his left hand is traveling downwards ever so gradually. “Tell me what it is you want.” 

You suppose this is it, moment of truth. He wants to hear what you have to say. You could tell him to fuck off, right here, right now. And honestly you’re positive he would leave if you told him to. You’re married, unhappily. But that doesn’t make this okay. Nothing could make this okay. Except for the way his hands clamp down on your waist just hard enough to make you whine but not hard enough to bruise. Well, that’s enough to cloud your judgment enough to make this okay. 

“Tell me.” His palms begin to knead the soft flesh of your abdomen and you swear the sensation of that alone has him groaning and rutting against you from behind. 

This view is obscene, watching him grope you. It’s a real spectacle he’s making, holding you up on your shaky knees in front of the floor length mirror so you can see everything he’s doing to your body. 

“Use your words, princess. Speak up.” You didn’t think his voice could get more husky; he's practically growling. It’s a good thing he’s supporting you slightly because his words make your knees buckle. 

Oh he loves this, loves having you so unraveled by him that you can’t even tell him what you so desperately need from him. You can feel just how much he loves this against your lower back right now.

“I want to hear you say it, sarad'ika. ” And that’s all it takes to break your resolve. Those two words you couldn’t remember no matter how hard you tried, trickling out of his modulator and you’re willing to surrender to the feelings you’ve been fighting for longer than you’d like to admit. So you say it, you admit it out loud for the first time. You admit it to yourself for the first time. 

“You. I want you. ”

And you wake up. Still in your dress, still laying on the edge of your bed, still alone. 

Fuck.

Well, that might mean something.

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

[marsbutterfly]

(not a request) Mars I have this head cannon that Hanji loves spicy food. Or for those that don’t think that, Hanji fr would force herself to try to withstand the heat if her crush liked spicy food. Tears in her eyes like yeah this shit tasty. Thoughts? 😩😩😩

you said not a request but this came to me in 15 minutes, i couldn't help myself once i saw the vision safoapsofps

Bellyache

"There are tears in your eyes," you say, slurping up some of your noodles. Your face is somewhat serious, a bit concerned actually by how red their facial expression is, but Hanji refuses to back down. They continue to dip their food into the sauce, mouth wide open in an attempt to let out some steam.

"Nooooo, I'm fine," they respond, placing their silverware down and drinking some water, trying their best to hide the fact that they are dunking their tongue in the ice, "besides, I told you I could do this and I totally can."

"Hanji," you say in a somewhat laughing voice, trying your best to be supportive, "I know you like spicy food. I've had my mouth burned a fair share of times accidentally trying your food, you don't have to do this."

Their gaze lifts to meet yours, stubborn tears burning in their eyes but they shake their head, their grip on the glass tightening before they take another bite of their food, an intense and determined look taking over their features as a somewhat smug response exits their swollen lips, "this isn't about you."

You arch your eyebrows before placing your silverware down, using a napkin to wipe the corners of your mouth before leaning forward on the table, all ten of your fingers lacing together as you place your elbows on each side of your plate, chin propped up on the back of your hands as you respond in the same smug tone, "Oh, really? Then what's it about?"

They look up at the clock, then back at you, then back at the clock, then finally back at you. They don't respond and you are suddenly worried that they've lost the ability to speak due to the heat. That is until you realize what they were signaling to and your face falls flat, an almost angry twitch to your eye.

"You want your picture on the damn wall, don't you?" You say, trying your best to sound serious but the need to laugh is nearly overpowering your senses. With an embarrassed snort, Hanji nods and that response alone causes you to run your fingers through your hair, your palms resting above your face as they cover your eyes, "Hanji!"

"We come here too often!" They respond, taking yet another eager bite out of the food. At this point, they are nearly done with it, maybe less than a third left to go, there is no way in hell they are backing down. Once they swallow, they continue to speak, "besides, the meal will be free AND I get a t-shirt. Wouldn't it be so hot if you could tell people your partner beat this challenge?"

You sigh, leaning back on the chair with a defeated expression, "no, it would be hot to tell people my partner is still alive!" You don't expect them to back down, after all, they've come all this way. So you just reach in your purse, searching for your small medicine case where you keep everything you need: three different kinds of pain killers, nausea medicine, some back-up of your medicine and lastly the two you are looking for - gas pills and a lot of antacid.

By the time you look back up, Hanji has one minute left on the clock and just two more bites but you can see by the way they are sweating that they can barely handle it. You want desperately to say something along the lines of "I told you so", but you don't.

Instead, you decide to stand up and walk behind them, both of your hands on their shoulders as you squeeze the area gently. Your voice coming out in a soothing yet loud tone so they are able to hear you through the loud cheers that erupt across the restaurant, "YOU GOT THIS, SUNSHINE!"

That's all it takes. If you had blinked, you would have missed it. With just three seconds left, they shoved the last bite of food in their mouth and swallow it, taking a massive sip of water right after. The entire restaurant begins cheering like a player has just scored the final point in a decisive match.

You hug them from behind, burying your face on their neck as they lean back against you while still sitting down. You can't help but smile brightly, weirdly proud of their small accomplishment. Well, calling it "small" would be diminishing the hell they just went through.

"You did it!" You say in the most cheerful tone you can find, using a clean napkin to wipe away the mixture of the tears and sweat that falls down their face, "I am so impressed! Might have to show you how hot that was when we get home!"

They smirk for a second before reaching for the glass of milk that has been placed in front of them. They dip their tongue in the liquid, allowing it to soothe their burning pain while they keep their eyes closed for a moment, their body temperature so high that it fogs up their glasses to the point where you have to remove the item from their face.

It takes Hanji a few minutes to recover but, as promised, both of your meals were on the house and, with their new t-shirt on their body, Hanji finally got to have their picture taken and plastered on the wall of your favorite restaurant.

As the two of you begin making your way home, Hanji stays mostly quiet, allowing you to do the talking. It isn't like them to act this way but you just assume that they are too full to even begin talking, so you just continue to yap away - about what tv show you are watching when you get home, what kind of ice cream you are getting, if they want to stop and get something at the convenience store down the road.

But you stop your rambling when Hanji suddenly stops in their tracks. Their free arm wrapped around their stomach as they look at the floor for an instant.

"y/n?" They say in a timid voice, hand still connected to yours as the two of you find yourselves at the middle of the sidewalk, about to turn into your street. You turn around to face them, only to be received by the biggest puppy dog eyes you have ever, ever seen in your entire life.

"Yes?" You respond, biting back a laugh as you already know exactly where they are going with this. The small pouting of their lips giving their next words away.

"My tummy hurts."

[romanoffsbish]

Wrapped up in You

Scarlett Johansson x Fem!Reader

“Natasha” x F!R 😏

Happy Valentines Day angels 🥰

Warnings: None 🥰

Smut: Role-Playing: Daddy (Nat) / Kotenok (R), Choking, Oral/Fingering (R), Thigh-Riding(N), Degradation ; Mommy (SJ) / Baby (R), Double-Sided Strap, Praising, Aftercare 🥰

18+ | Minors DNI

"Scarlett! I'm being serious! Which one?!," the blonde only laughed harder at your whining., "Baby, did you intend to be the disco ball at Evan's Valentine's Day bash?," she rolled her eyes when you tried to intimidatingly glare at her, then she glared right back when looking at the red dress in your hand., "Because if not then you might as well stay here with me since the other dress will leave you nearly naked."

Scarlett smirked when you turned away from her in a huff, as slyly as possible she clambered out of the bed to wrap her arms around you from behind, her lips pressing to your bare shoulder causing her smirk to broaden as your body shivers, her plan slowly falling into place.

———

"Scar, I don't want to embarrass myself, or you so please just help me.," you stomped your feet, turning to face her with the softest pout, she frowned sympathetically., "My love, you could never embarrass me, whatever you choose to wear will be fine; you're beautiful in anything."

"So, if I chose to wear sweats with a messy bun you'd be fine?," she exaggeratedly pursed her pink lips out in a moment of contemplation., "I'd love it, because above all else your comfort is of the utmost importance to me, plus, you know I love your lazy day look; it's really hot.," you rolled your eyes, but then you took notice of her unwavering gaze, it was soft and it was accompanied by a loving smile that made you feel like melting from where you stood., "Oh."

Scarlett watched intently as you eventually figured out how honest she was being., "Yeah.," she breathed out, shaking her head in relative amusement before leaning in to press a kiss to your lips., "You're beautiful Y/N/N, my 'image' only ever flourishes with you by my side.," the care and conviction in her voice brought a few tears to your eyes, and the woman frowned.

"My love.," she coo'd while cupping your face., "Let's just stay in.," she offered with a smile, but you shook your head., "No Scar, I'm fine.," you softly kissed her palm., "Plus it's not everyday that Chris actually has a girlfriend."

The blonde starlet pressed her forehead into your shoulder as she laughed at your tease., "Baby, that's not very nice.," you deadpanned., "The truth doesn't care about Evans feelings.," the both of you held eye contact for a brief moment before both erupting into bellyaching laughter. Your smile was brighter than normal as your chest filled with pride for making her laugh so hard, and Scarlett found the happiness a sight she never wants to go away.

"I'm being serious Y/N, they won't even notice our absence, and I have more pressing matters to attend to.," you quirked a brow., "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!," she affirmed, nodding her head while smirking at you., "Like what?," she leaned her body into yours, and chuckled as you gasped., "Like you into the mattress baby, until you scream for me to stop, and even after that."

"Scar.," she pressed herself into you even harder, the bulge in her suit pants rubbing against you deliciously, and hopefully curbing your rebuttal., "We can try out your idea..."

Scarlett watched every bit of resistance leave your body as a wide smile overtook your face., "Really?!," she nodded then pecked your lips., "I'll have Edward pick you up in an hour love, wear that little red number and I'll meet you at the bar of the Pierre hotel.," she giggled at your shocked expression., "Scar that's expensive."

Then she rolled her eyes., "You can't place a price on my love for you angel; see you soon."

—

"Thanks Edward.," the man smiled at you kindly., "It's my pleasure Mrs. Johansson.," you returned the gesture then slid him a crisp $100 bill., "Happy Valentine's Day Ed, do tell Lily that I said hello, and that her chicken dumplings were to die for. Goodnight."

After shutting the door you stood there in awe, your dress rippling against you as the wind picked up behind you as the car sped off. Scarlett had exquisite taste, the outside of the tall building alone was worth marveling at. Upon entering you found it only got better, the decor was gorgeous, and made you feel like you were at a prestigious event like the Met Gala.

The alarm on your phone went off, signaling to you that you were only five minutes away from the time you were meant to meet your wife. After speaking with the woman at the front desk you made your way to the bar with the instructions she gave you, and settled down at the luxurious bar., "One dirty martini please."

A grin overtook your face as you realized this was likely how your night was always going to go. Scarlett's probably been planning this for months, and Evans party was her last priority. The moment she brought up your whispered about fantasies you were a total goner, and you know she knew that, the smirk was evidence.

Sipping on the drink in your hand brought your excitable nerves down ever so slightly. Your wife always made you incredibly nervous, she was just so breathtakingly gorgeous, and it didn't matter how much she told you she wanted you you still found it hard to believe. Scarlett was Hollywood's IT girl, and well you were somehow hers, it left you astonished.

Scarlett watched you from afar, the way you were leaning against the bar had your breasts perfectly pushed up, eyes of several patrons took notice too, and suddenly she was on the prowl., "Wow, aren't you a total stunner.," the familiar rasp came from your right, the deep lilt to her tone had your body shivering., "Might I buy you a drink gorgeous?"

"No thanks, I'm married.," you replied in a low tone as you wriggled your ring clad finger before her face without even turning to look at her., "Funny, I don't recall asking if you were."

"What's the harm in sharing a drink with me?," she purred, her hot breath now flowing across your collarbones as she'd leaned in close., "Because drinks hardly ever mean drinks to women like you.," she chuckled hotly., "Women like me, hm?," her fingers wrapped around your chin, forcing you to look at her, you lost your breath at the marvelous sight., "Whatever does that mean, kotenok?"

Scarlett bit her lip as she heard your affected whispered curses, the immediate darkening of your eyes nearly made her resolve crumble., "I'm Natasha, and my eyes are up here.," she teased, her hand however reached down to link with yours, role play or not she wanted you to be at ease., "Might I get your name too?"

"Y/N, um, Johansson.," you swallowed thickly, the sight of your wife standing there in a black, skintight dress left you near to speechless, add in the curled red wig, and the blade holstered to her thigh and you're not even sure you knew how to breathe anymore., "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well kotenok.," Scarlett broke character momentarily as she smiled at you in the way only she ever did, because of course you'd remain polite even in role play., "I'm not sure where your wife is dorogoy, but I do believe someone as beautiful as you should be cherished on this very holiday.," she stepped in closer, her body pushing your back into the bar., "Accompany me to dinner, will you?"

Natasha took your hand in hers without even waiting for your answer, escorting you to the incredibly fancy restaurant, Perrine, that was located within the hotel. The redhead ordered their finest bottle of wine, then she scoped out the menu for the both of you. Scarlett knew you well enough to know you’d be too out of it to really order for yourself anyways. Which is why when the waiter returned she ordered shrimp cocktail for the table, a chicken caesar salad for you, and for herself she order the filet mignon.

Dinner was relatively quiet, the both of you were too enamored by the other’s beauty to entertain a trivial conversation. Hunger faded in ways, but it roared in others while you were subject to the intense gaze of the woman sat across from you. Natasha was sipping the last of the wine from her glass, but her eyes never once left your body; drinking you in as well.

“Tell me kotenok.,” her hand slid from her now empty glass to gently lay over yours., “Would you be a dear and let me fuck you senseless?”

Natasha smirked when she felt you shiver under her subtle touch., “Your wife will never have to know.,” she added with a teasing smirk, you smiled softly at your wife shining through, but you were brought back to the situation when the redhead squeezed your hand, her patience was running thin., “I’m waiting…”

Meekly you nodded, and that’s all she needed to call the waiter over, pay the tab, then whisk you right off. The two of you rushed into the elevator, the redhead hurriedly pressed the button for the 28th floor, then with that taken care of she shifted to you., “I can’t wait to taste you.,” her lips slammed to yours, catching your needy whimpers, and you melted into her.

Natasha pulled your dazed form behind her as she excitedly rushed to get the key card in the door of their Park Suite. She pushed the door open with vigor, and as soon as she had you inside she pressed you into it., “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about your tits all night kotenok, can I please worship them?,” her lips pecked yours before traveling down your jaw, she was marking your skin., “No marks…M-my wife.,” you whimpered and she harshly bit the skin.

“She won’t mind sharing, now shut up.,” she growled, then continued working on marking you up, your mind went extremely fuzzy as her words reverberated around your mind. Scarlett was never one for harshness, but you couldn’t exactly lie, her aggression had an effect on you; if she were to just reach between the apex of your thighs she’d find quite the flow of arousal.

Her hands however traveled to your back instead, soft fingers tugging harshly at the zipper of your dress and pulling it down until it pooled around your hips., “Fucking gorgeous.,” she groaned when met with your bare chest., “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever encountered kotenok.,” you smiled at her, then a whine left your lips as she sucked your nipple into her mouth., “I can’t wait to fucking destroy you.”

The way she bit down on your nipple while her fingers twisted the other had you burning up, the need for her touch everywhere all at once was at an all time high., “Natasha, please.,” she released your nipples, her stony eyes met yours while her hand moved to your throat., “Don’t call me that.,” there was an edge to her tone you weren’t used to, you could feel your walls throbbing around nothing in response,, and the way she squeezed your throat only increased your arousal., “Call me daddy.”

“Fuck…,” you choked, the idea alone left you even dizzier than the lack of oxygen did., “Please daddy, I need more.,” she met your pleas with a smirk, using her grip on your throat she pulled you in for a sloppy kiss, her other arm wrapped around your waist, and she even managed to stumble the both of your bodies over to the bed without any trouble.

Natasha tossed your panting form onto the mattress., “Oh kotenok, you dirty, dirty girl.,” she had ripped your dress off to find you not only went without underwear, but that your thighs were painted in your dripping arousal., “Daddy’s treat.,” her hands settled over your knees for leverage, but more importantly to keep you wide open., “You ready kotenok?”

“Mhm, yes daddy.,” you hummed, and she placed a kiss to your cheek., “Good, because I don’t think I can hold back on devouring you any longer.,” in direct contrast her lips began a slow pace as they trailed down your body., “I want to feel you pulsing around my tongue kotenok.,” her tongue swirled around your nipples far too fast to be anything short of teasing, then she continued down your body.

Natasha loved the way your body squirmed the closer she got to your cunt, a devilish laugh rumbled from her chest when you whined, she had skipped right passed your glistening lips and instead lowered herself to be able to kiss up your legs, starting from your ankles, and moving up them slowly, oscillating from left to right to keep you perpetually guessing.

However much fun she was having teasing you it was over once she reached your thighs, her own patience went right out the window at the taste of you., “Fuck you taste sweet kotenok., she groaned, and licked a line up your thighs., “I need to taste you straight from the source.”

The redhead dove right in, her pace was brutal and rooted in carnality, your head was absolutely spinning with each thrust of her tongue. The depth she was able to reach when she suddenly pushed your thighs up was breathtaking—you were a literal gasping mess as she brought your trembling form to bliss with the newfound pressure of her thumb on your neglected clit., “Daddy, o-oh fuck!,” your walls held her tongue in a vice grip, her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feel of you pulsating, her own core now throbbing in sync.

Natasha wasted no time replacing her tongue with her fingers, she was roughly pounding her digits into you while desperately chasing her own release on your thigh, the both of you were moaning languidly in corresponding breaths., “You’re so fucking tight kotenok.,” she panted., “Fuck, your wife must love pounding this sweet pussy of hers.,” your walls fluttered at the mention of your favorite blonde, but in the same turn your heart oddly ached with guilt.

“Just imagine her walking in on us kotenok.,” she chuckled out darkly., “Seeing as I fuck her wife so well, making you a trembling mess for me, I bet she’d be fucking livid.,” there was a faint trace of venom in her tone that had you wondering if Scarlett detested this fantasy of yours., “I know if you were mine I’d kill the person who thought they could touch you.”

This idea that you’d actually upset her makes your heart rate pick up, your body trembled but the blissed out woman fucking into you mistook it as a sign you were nearing your precipice., “Fuck, cum with me kotenok, drench daddy’s fingers!,” the redhead kept a steady rhythm with her fingers that had you flying over the edge of bliss with her, but the panic you were just feeling had you sobbing.

Natasha pulled out of you, a smirk overtook her face as she saw the flowing tears trailing down your temples., “How fucking pathetic.,” she mocked you, but when you whimpered pitifully it struck her heart, this wasn’t from being overstimulated, something happened and now your heart was failing to cope.

“Baby, what’s wrong?,” you heard the concern, the Natasha Romanoff facade had crumbled, and you were more than grateful for that., “Mommy, please… I-I.,” you grasped for her, and she was quick to press her lips to yours., “Shh, baby, mommy’s here.,” her lips were gentle as they continued to meet yours while her hand flew up to remove the clips and wig.

When she pulled away from your lips you whimpered, but as your eyes fluttered open you were able to settle as she smiled down at you., “What do you need my sweet girl?,” you bit your lip at the thought of what you wanted, the blonde above you saw the mischievous glint in your eyes too., “Mommy, wanna feel you deep inside me, want your cock so bad, please!!”

“Shh baby, no need to cry, mommy’s got you.,” she clambered off of you and made her way to find her suitcase she brought for this event. The red dildo elicited a squeal from you once you saw it dangling between her legs, and she chuckled freely at your much happier form., “There’s mommy’s happy girl.,” she gently kissed your lips., “Remember to breathe.,” and with that she was pushing the strap into you.

Scarlett was taking it slow, allowing you time to get used to the stretching of your walls, she was stilled within you while her lips tenderly kissed over the marks from earlier, she began to nip and suck at them, working to deepen them., “Mommy’s precious girl—all fucking mine.,” you whimpered., “Mm, all yours mommy.”

“Can mommy move now baby?”

“Please…”

Scarlett pulled the strap almost completely out of you, the tip was all that remained, and as soon as you began to whine she rutted her hips forward and you screamed at the sensation. Her hips began to continue this tactic at random, usually after she’d give you painfully slow, and deliciously deep thrusts. Every nerve in your body felt like it was burning, that pit settled deep within your abdomen was ready to snap with every thrust the blonde gave you.

“Mommy’s close too baby.,” Scarlett softly said, letting you know she knew—she always did; if your body was a map she’d have it memorized, and be able to reach the destination with ease. She’d spent years learning all your cues, and the adorable scrunch of your face, mixed with your clenched eyes and harsh breaths told her more than the resistance she’s facing below., “Cum with me baby, let mommy hear how good she fucks you, make a mess of these sheets…”

Scarlett catches your lips with hers as your back arches off of the plush mattress, her arm not holding herself up securing your front to hers as her hips continue to fuck the strap deeply into you to ride out both of your highs, she gasps affectedly against your lips when she feels your arousal drenching her thighs. Truth be told she nearly collapsed into you at the concept of making you squirt., “You’re just so hot baby.,” she groans as she’s lowering you back down, she follows you as she does she continues to kiss you tenderly., “So perfect.”

“Are you okay baby?,” you nodded, then you remembered Scarlett’s affinity for the verbal., “I’m fine mommy.,” you whispered., “Are you?”

Scarlett’s heart soared., “I’m perfect baby.,” she reaffirmed that by kissing you, slowly as if to savor the feel of your swollen lips, to kindly let you taste the remnants of your arousal, and to stay close as the both of your bodies recovered.

Your wife helped you walk into the restroom on your shaky legs, she held your nude body close, swaying you soothingly while waiting for the tub to fill up with warm water., “I love you.,” she beamed at the sound of your tender words, “I promise that I love you so much more baby.”

She pecked away your pout and subsequent rebuttals, they forcibly died on your tongue, only to be replaced by your tired giggles as she settled kisses all over your face., “Adorable.”

Once the water was a little over halfway your wife guided your bodies into the water, you sighed happily as the warmth enveloped you, and Scarlett took a moment to just admire you. You were leaned into her body with your eyes closed, exhaustion prevalent as she watched your breaths begin to slow. This time with you was always peaceful, being able to take care of you was her favorite thing to do, and the fact that you trust her this much boggles her mind.

After she finished washing the both of you, and the water began to run tepid she lightly nudged your shoulder., “Baby, it’s time to wake up.,” she ran a soothing hand down your back when you rolled over and nuzzled into her instead., “Room service is coming soon, come on love.”

“What for?,” you tiredly mumbled causing her to giggle at your sheer reluctance., “Well, if my memory serves me correct.,” she hummed, her finger tapping at her chin as she pretends to ponder the reason., “Champagne.,” your attention slightly piqued., “And?,” she rolled her eyes., “Chocolate covered strawberries.”

“I’m in.,” she snorted., “Good, then get out.”

Tender hands lathered your body in lotion that smelled of citrus, she kneaded your muscles, pulling appreciative groans from your lips., “Thanks Scar.,” she surged forward, kissing your lips in a show of ‘you’re welcome,’ then she moved on to applying The Outsets night cream to your pre-cleansed face, following it up with their eye cream and the moisturizing oil.

The process repeated with herself, you tried to help her but she shushed you, and moved your tired head to rest against her shoulder instead., “All done.,” she purred to stir you back to life. You pulled back with a tired smile and she was overwhelmed with her love for you., “Oh my beautiful girl...,” she kissed you tenderly, yet deeply, the need to feel your lips was forever present for her, and if not for the knock on the door she’d stay here awhile., “Arms up love.”

Scarlett had placed her hoodie over your body, then she settled you on the bed, before she walked away she turned the fireplace on and promised you a speedy return., “My precious little valentine, mommy will be right back.”

Scarlett returned to the bed as she promised, the sight of you so peaceful as you sat in her hoodie while watching the fire roar made her heart swell with an abundance of warmth. Love, it was all she felt with you around, she’s never loved anyone like the way she loved you before, and every time that thought scares her all she has to do is find your smiling face, and all the worries dancing within her disappear.

Worry had no place in her heart as she cuddled up next to you, passing over your bubbling flute and settling the tray of fruit in her lap., “Such a perfect, beautiful gift you are.,” she placed a kiss to your temple, then she fed you a strawberry, and followed it up with her mouth on yours, her tongue quick to savor the sweet taste that enveloped your mouth and now hers.

Once the bottle and tray were polished off you both shimmied under the covers., “Scar?,” she hummed, opening her tired eyes to peer into your beautiful set., “Yes my love?,” she could see how nervous you were, so she gripped your hand and cupped your cheek., “I’m ready.”

Tears immediately filled her eyes as she saw the unwavering truth in your watery eyes., “Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope this wasn’t anticlimactic, because I promise I got you something else too, but it just felt right to…”

“Baby.,” she chuckled over your nervous ramblings., “This is enough, you alone are more than enough, but what you’re offering.,” she paused, doing her best to hold back her need to sob., “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted for us. You’re going to be such a good mom.,” her arms tugged your body into hers further., “So are you Scarlett, you’re already perfect.”

Scarlett’s mind ran wild with flashes of the prospective future as you fell asleep in her warm embrace. From taking care of a pregnant you, to the birth of your children, and to even growing old with you. Nothing could compare to planning out a future with your soulmate, and the fact that you were hers made it better.

She doesn’t mind being yours for a lifetime, not at all, because you being wrapped up in her arms like this is the most natural part of life.

———

4,012 Words

💘 Kaitlyn 🥹

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

I liked your story with Alex, can we see a story of Shane eating and disposing of a bunch of the townsfolk while he was drunk?

Yeah, definitely! He’s one of my favorites personally. Since it's been a minute from the last one, reminder that I write these with the gay furry mod in mind. I'm...weirdly picky about human preds but turn them guy into an anthro and I'm all over him.

S.hane hiccups and groans softly, having to lean against the wall to stop himself from teetering. The gator’s gone and done it again. He had way too much to drink. He’s only vaguely aware of it, if only because it’s making it difficult to do much of anything. He feels completely weighed down right now, and all the booze has gotten him gassy.

A few taps on his shoulder jolts S.hane out of his haze and he blinks a few times, looking over at the person bothering him. It’s S.am, and the tiger seems a bit annoyed, his tail flickering. “Hey, are you going to let S.ebastian out or what?”

“Wha..?” S.hane blinks a few more times. What about S.ebastian..? While he’s trying to figure out what the point of the question is, the gator’s stomach sloshes suddenly and sends a rolling belch out of him. It takes like beer and wolf. He looks down at his stomach, seeing it hanging down in front of him, distinctly shaped like a curled up person. S.ebastian’s voice is muffled as he tries to yell.

“Hic...I need somethin’ to soak up the beer,” S.hane slurs out, “so I don’t get drunk...” He gives his gut a few rough pats, making S.ebastian yell again. “Sebby’s just...helpin’ out for a bit...’s all...”

S.am rolls his eyes. “That’s great, S.hane, but just ask G.us to make you something to eat then. I need S.ebastian for our game.” He nods his head to the pool table, which is where the two men had been just before S.hane came up and snapped down on the wolf’s head. “So just cough him up and get something else.”

S.hane groans slightly at the thought. If he spits S.ebastian up now, he’ll definitely end up puking. Then he’ll have to get more beer. And he already spent all his money. “Y’know what, S.am, why don’t you just...” S.hane looks at the tiger, halfway through speaking when his jaws open and another belch bubbles out of him. S.am winces and waves the air away. “...go in there and get him,” S.hane finishes.

S.am coughs, nose still cringing. “What? S.hane, I’m not going to stick my hand in your--” He tries to look back at the gator, but he’s staring down into those wide open jaws. They snap down on his head and shoulders before he can even finish the thought, and wet chugs sounds soon follow as S.hane messily gulps him down.

Despite being completely wasted, being a gator gives S.hane the advantage. His strong jaws clamp down tight, and none of S.am’s thrashing or struggling can force them open. So the tiger disappears deeper inside instead, each wet gulp dragging him down into the stink pit of beer and wolf hanging off the gator. The whole affair does make S.hane lose his balance, though, and he lands on top of his gut, belching around the bottom half of S.am’s body. Though he quickly goes right back to slurping his legs down until they’re all gone.

S.ebastian and S.am are both yelling and struggling now, making S.hane’s gut bulge and slosh around wildly. It shakes the gator back and forth on top and it does work in getting him sick. All that comes up, though, are very wet and harsh belches.S.hane groans and whines, now starting to press his weight into his stomach more. He squeezes it between his legs and wraps his arms around it. “Oooough...will you two...Hwwuuuuurp...guh, just stop it..? You’re givin’ me...ulp...indigestion...”

“S.hane..?” A soft voice makes the gator grumble and open up one eye. He sees a pair of feet in front of him and looks up to see H.arvey leaning over him slightly. The goat seems a bit worried, frowning slightly. “If you’re having such a bellyache, maybe you should...spit S.ebastian and S.am out?” The muffled, yelling voices from the gator’s stomach seem to be in agreement, but S.hane isn’t.

“No...mmm, no, I got this...” S.hane mumbles. He starts to squeeze his gut harder, gritting his teeth and growling. He rocks back and forth, grinding his weight down on his stomach. It’s bubbling thickly, and the two men inside are starting to cry out louder. A crack rings out through the various noises, followed by a scream. S.hane squeezes harder and more start to follow. Wet snaps and crunches bubble out of S.hane’s gut, along with frantically yelling voices. Until a rumbling belch rolls out of the gator’s jaws followed by a very loud crunching sound that makes both men go silent at once.

“G-Good lord, S.hane...” H.arvey gapes as he watches the gator. S.hane huffs and puffs before he lets go of his gut and begins to wobble back onto his feet. The goat takes a step back, watching the dunkard rise. S.hane’s gut sloshes and burbles thickly, hanging down low with nothing but dead weight. Vague imprints of the two men inside bulge out the bottom of the gator’s stomach, but it’s clear they aren’t moving anymore. If anything, S.hane’s gut is having an easier time working on them now.

“Finally...” S.hane groans, rubbing his hands deeply into his gut. It bubbles and churns deeply, squishing under the kneading pressure. Another belch bubbles out of him and it sends one of S.ebastian’s shoes flying. It bounces off of H.arvey’s chest and hits the floor with a splat.

Out of instinct more than anything, H.arvey carefully picks it up, looking between the shoe and S.hane. “S.hane, you just...”

“Bwwwurp...oooh, is that Seb’s..? He’s gonna want that back...” S.hane wobble a bit and stumbles. Whether he was trying to lunge forward or just tripped is hard to tell, but his jaws snap down over not just the shoe, but H.arvey’s entire forearm. The goat’s eyes widen and he tries to pull away, but all that does is make the gator swallow in retaliation.

“Gah! S.hane, stop it! That’s my arm!” H.arvey tries to pull away again, but another swallow drags him in up to his shoulder. S.hane’s jaws open up, his breath reeking of death and booze. H.arvey can see his arm sunk down in the slick gullet and he knows he’s about to follow. “G.us! E.mil! I need some help over h--MMPH!” S.hane’s jaws snap down on H.arvey’s head and he continues gulping on instinct.

By the time E.mil comes over to find out why he was called, the blue parrot squawks at what he’s seeing. S.hane is slumped down against the wall, his massive gut resting in his lap as it boils loudly. H.arvey’s legs hang from his jaws, his head tipped back as he gulps them down. They’re kicking around wildly as it happens, H.arvey’s muffled screaming hard to hear deep in S.hane’s gut.

E.mil quickly rushes over and grabs onto H.arvey’s ankles, trying to pull. “S.hane, that’s not food! That’s H.arvey! Spit him out right now!” Despite his efforts, S.hane’s gullet proves a much stronger force, and E.mil makes no headway as H.arvey’s legs sink down deeper. He doesn’t realize that it’s pointless to try until it’s too late, and his hands sink down S.hane’s gullet at the same time as H.arvey’s feet. The parrot barely gets out a scream before the gator’s jaws snap down over his head and shoulders.

After about twenty minutes, S.hane comes waddling over to the bar. His guts sway and slosh heavily, bulging around with the weak squirms of H.arvey and E.mil. A groan escapes the gator and he belches deeply, blue feathers puffing out of his jaws. He manages to get to the bar and sits down on one of the stools. It creaks loudly under his weight. His gut squelches as it’s shoved up against the bar, and there’s a few cracks from it when he does. Someone inside shudders and goes slack.

“Another...Bwwwweeellllch...mmf, beer, G.us...” S.hane slurs out, leaning on the bar slightly. At this point, there’s so much meat bubbling in his stomach, he can probably drink a whole case of beer and not even get a little tipsy! Ignoring the fact that he’s already incredibly drunk at the moment.

“Think you’ve had enough beer for a lifetime...” C.lint mutters next to him. The panda brings his mug up to his muzzle as a way to mask it, but S.hane already heard him.

“Wha’ was that?” S.hane asks, turning his attention to his neighbor. “I can have another...hic...another beer if I want! Not hurtin’ anyone...”

“Oh, yeah, not hurting anyone,” C.lint repeats sarcastically, jabbing S.hane’s gut as he does. His finger sinks in with a squelch and a wet bubbling sound. S.hane belches deeply again, H.arvey’s glasses flying out of his maw and landing on the bar. 

S.hane growls a bit. “I’ll show you hurting..!” And he lunges, using his current immense weight to his advantage. Both him and C.lint topple over, taking the stools down with them as they crash to the ground. C.lint tries to yell and thrash, but he’s stuck under S.hane’s massive gut, and once those jaws come down on him, it’s already over.

G.us sighs as he watches S.hane pull himself up again, using the bar for leverage. A twitching pair of panda feet stick out of his maw, which snaps shut. A wet gulp sends the last of C.lint down and S.hane huffs out a low groan. He slumps down, head on the bar. “...beer...please.”

“I think I’m gonna have to cut you off for tonight, S.hane,” G.us says with a frown. “Now that all my other customers and my one other bartender are--” S.hane lets out a sickly belch, which is underlaid with C.lint’s very loud and angry screaming. “--indisposed...I think I’m just going to close early tonight.”

S.hane grumbles a bit as the polar bear turns around to start putting things away. C.lint keeps kicking in his stomach, making it bulge and slosh loudly. He just wants to wash all that meat down with one more drink. Is that too much to ask? He’ll just have to get behind the bar and get it himself...

...S.hane lets out a whine as he starts to come to, just to feel a splitting headache throbbing behind his eyes. He rubs at them slowly, wincing at the pain. He’s somewhere really uncomfortable and he feels like he swallowed a bag of cement. What happened..?

S.hane starts to push himself up slowly, which makes his gut shift and sag down into his lap. He blinks a few times as he looks down at it. It’s hanging out of his jacket, his shirt rising up to his chest. The gator stares at it for a moment and gives it a slight squeeze. God...

He also notices that something long and fluffy is hanging out of his jaws. It takes him a minute to recognize it as a raccoon tail. Isn’t that P.ierre’s..? It takes him over a minute to realize that he didn’t accidentally steal the raccoon’s tail from him, and that the heavy, sloshing thing in his gut is probably the rest of the shopkeeper. With a wet slurp, the tail is gone, and S.hane groans as he drags himself back to his feet.

The gator blearily looks around and finds himself at the tavern, behind the bar. He squints slightly in the morning light and starts to waddle along, hefting his gut as he does. G.us is going to kill him if he...a sharp groan from S.hane’s gut makes the thought stop in its tracks. Oh...right. S.hane’s the one that killed G.us, actually. Along with S.ebastian, S.am, H.arvey, E.mil, and C.lint. And apparently P.ierre, although the gator’s fuzzy memories definitely stop before that can be recalled. The racoon must have come in some time after G.us went down and S.hane ate him before passing out.

S.hane stumbles a bit more before his grunts groan loudly again and he winces. The gator pants as he leans himself on the bar with one hand, the other trying to rub and soothe his stomach. Eating seven people didn’t just leave him incredibly fat. He can feel the pressure down below building up rapidly. He’s gotta go...

It takes considerable effort for S.hane to get outside. His head still hurts and the early morning sun isn’t helping, but he needs somewhere he can leave all of...this. No one’s around right now, thankfully, so the gator quickly shuffles off to the side of the tavern where all the trash can’s are. S.hane fumbles with his pants and gets them down enough to expose his ass. He quickly lifts his tail up and relaxes with a groan.

In an instant, thick shit begins to squelch out of the gator’s ass and into the trash cans. S.hane can hear the thumps and thuds of dense logs landing in the metal bins and starting to heap up. His nose cringes at the horrible smell but he keeps going regardless. He can tell this is going to be a lot of work.

S.ebastian and S.am fill up most of the first can. The logs are dense and mostly solid, having baked the longest in S.hane’s digestive system. Bones can be easily make poking out of the dark waste, a stark white in contrast. What’s a bit harder to see is the rest of S.ebastian’s...leftovers, his gray fur and black hoodie much harder to distinguish as they slide out. S.am’s much brighter yellow fur and blue coat are harder to miss, though. The two skulls that come out, one for a wolf and one for a tiger, would be the best pieces of evidence over who was filling up the can.

S.hane had to quickly move onto the next bin, tossing the lid aside and practically sitting on it as he goes. Gas echoes inside, soon followed by more sputtering shit as H.arvey and E.mil slop out of him next. It’s incredibly smooth for S.hane, at least, the two of them coming out with little issue. E.mil’s bright blue feathers and H.arvey’s white fur tickles him the entire time, making the gator wiggle slightly and groan as he pushes them out. That soft green goat and red sweater vest those two always wear are much the same. S.hane stands up again once he feels the heat rising, sticking his ass up in the air just in time for E.mil’s skull to squeeze out, the beak cracked. It gets mostly buried by the next log, and H.arvey’s skull follows soon after, both of his horns snapped off and lost somewhere deeper in the can.

Despite coming up to the tail end of his morning dump, S.hane finds that he’s also at the worst of it. C.lint and G.us were big guys, being bears, and they remind the gator of that as he feels massive logs split him out as they slither out. It leaves him groaning and whining as each one passes, thick and solid with dense bones packed in. Even the tufts of brown and white fur don’t do much to alleviate the discomfort of squeezing them both out like this. The skulls are the worst of it, clogging the gator up as he gets to them. Crap pushes through their open jaws or eye sockets before he’s able to get them out, leaving two bear skulls to sit on top of the overflowing trash can in the end.

S.hane pants deeply once it’s done. He feels a lot lighter. He lowers his tail and steps away, about ready to pull his pants up again when another sudden and sharp pain hits him. S.hane squats down on instinct and groans as soft shit gushes out of him quickly. He forgot about P.ierre, who’s now heaping up on the ground against the three trash cans. It’s messy but fast, raccoon’s fur and bones giving the shit most of its structure. S.hane barely even notices when the skull slides out of him, just waiting for that empty feeling. As soon as he gets it, he stands up, wipes his ass off with a rag he took from G.us’s bar, and quickly waddles off while yanking his pants up.

The hungover gator doesn’t even want to look back and see the mess he’s made. His green scales are flushing red with embarrassment. That smell is going to waft through town for sure...and he’d rather be out on his farm by the time that happens. Hopefully, no one asks why he’s suddenly tripled in weight. At the very least...he’ll have an easier time quitting drinking now. The tavern isn’t going to be opening up for a long, long time...

[bettysupremacy]

Hi! How are you? I hope everything is well :) I saw that your requests open and I wanted to request a James Potter fic where the reader is a bit insecure when it comes to romantic stuff because she has never dated anyone so when James and the reader start dating she gets really shy about everything and James helps her feel comfortable with all of it maybe? I hope you like the idea! Thanks in advance :)

hey babe! thank you for the request I hope you like how it turned out

James stands in the bathroom, sink running, caps clicking. The sight and sound is a kind of domestic you’ve never felt before. This freaks you out.

“You wanna pick a movie, dovey?” It’s warped and bubbly from a mouthful of toothpaste, but you understand.

When he’d asked you to spent the night you hadn’t realized the intense bellyache of anxiety you’d get sitting in his bed, in his shirt, in his socks, waiting for him to be finished in the bathroom. If you had, you would’ve backed out.

You’re fingers fumble through his dark blue comforter. His room is so him, it’s a little suffocating. The remotes not here. Blue comforter, tee shirt thrown over his bed, circle framed glasses on a nightstand. His bedside table catches your eye. It’s in there.

You simply cannot open that drawer. You’re already suffocating in the intimacy of his room, you can’t also fall into the depths of his most personal drawer. He notices, wiping his mouth and jogging to the bed.

“Sorry.” He swiftly opens the drawer and tosses you the remote. It lands in your lap with the cushion of his blanket. “You ok?”

“I’ve never done this before.” You frown embarrassed.

“Slept over at my flat?” He breathes out, suppressing a smile. ”God, I hope you haven’t done that. D’be a bit weird, bug.”

You breathe a laugh but it comes out wonky. He frowns. “What’re you worried about?”

“I don’t know.” You whisper. His hands grab yours, thumbs working into your skin.

“Y’don’t gotta be nervous.” He smiles. “We’re just watching a movie is all.”

“And sleeping.” You add. “In the same bed.”

“Sleeping is what you’re worried about?” He teases. “You’ll be unconscious, I think that’s the least of your worries.”

You smile, genuine smile, this makes james proud. “What if I hog the blanket?”

“As long as you’re warm.”

“Stop.”

“What!” He laughs. “As long as my baby’s warm I’m content.”

You shake your head. “What If get too close? I’ve never shared a bed.”

“Baby, if you think that’s a problem..”

“I’m serious.” You give weakly.

“I’m serious! If you mind your personal space I won’t mind mine.”

The stare is silent but the smile on his face has you fighting off your own. He takes his hands back, bringing them up to your face. Rubbing the rough surface of his rugby palms over your cheeks, you lean into the touch.

“Seriously, baby,” he murmurs, “don’t fret it.”

You nod. Letting him take in your face.

Slowly, very slowly, he pushes you back. You almost don’t notice but the way his hands come down to your shoulders brings nerves back into your belly.

“I like when you’re in my personal space.”

He lays on you like a weighted blanket. Though, you can’t feel a weighted blanket breathe. Head in the spongy pillows, your fingers come up and tangle in his curls.

“This is nice.” You mutter.

“See?” You can feel him sigh. “Don’t let anxiety eat you.”

“Okay.”

“There’s nothing to be anxious over, you’re safe.”

“I know.” You mumble again.

He looks up at you. “You getting tired? Should we skip the movie?”

“No, put it on.” Your head shakes as much as it Can laying down. “I won’t fall asleep.”

“You liar!” He affably laughs. He can feel your giggles against his chest. “Can I at least get a kiss before we start the movie and you don’t fall asleep?”

“Mhm.”

The kiss he plants to your lips is warm and sturdy. He sits there for a second, too long to be chaste, to quick to be deep. When he pulls back you’re smiling.

“Y’ready?” He pushes some hair from your face. “You pick a movie?”

“No.”

He groans loudly, dropping back down on you. “What would you do without me?”

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warnings - Mentions of SA, child on child violence, graphic description, fatherlessness, Aemond gets fucked up, morally grey slay, questionable fathering, where are their parents?

Author's note ● Well, this is it. This is the last 124 AC chapter before we pick up six years later. Thank god, lets get to the SMASHING already!!! I just want to also state, that yes Visenya has raging father issues and yes that absolutely is going to evolve into something more disturbing, this may turn into a dead dove fic, purely because of the psychological fuckery I am about to pull. But hey, that's canon for ya. My girl has major problems. She IS going to make Aemond worse. Oh and this isn't edited, sorry for typos. I'll get to it later.

Word Count ~ 3.5k+

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

vi ~ 'An Eye'

123 AC

They charged through the rock pools, making their way to the alcove which contained the lower passage into High Tide. Visenya had let go of his hand by now, she hadn’t muttered a word, too fuelled by adrenaline and disgust, but mainly shame. Shame for what Aegon did to her, shame she was too fearful to stop him.

As they came to the darkened impasse, Aemond’s hand reached to grasp her wrist, and Visenya’s eyes widened as she felt the warmth of his hand coil gently, a poor attempt at affection. She looked to him, her gaze one of shock… her heart swelled at the action, a glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes, though his beamed with uncertainty.

Aemond's gazed sternly at the Princess, her silver hair glimmering under the torch light. No one had ever retaliated against Aegon, especially not for him...no one had ever bothered – not even his father. Aemond’s gaze softened as he glared at her, he felt shame rear its biting head in him as he recalled how little he had done to do the same for her. His grip upon her wrist slid down slightly, until his hand met the palm of hers, enclosing like a shell, as if done in thanks. Though Aemond did not know how to say such things, how to express it. Even this felt terribly odd, his brow furrowed.

Stillness settled, and the two young Targaryen’s stood face to face, their hands intertwined. The princess was in shock, her eyes gleamed with a slight affection for a moment – something warm tugging at her chest before she met the hard and dour gaze of his. She felt herself grow disturbed by the action, suddenly snapping out of the moment and ripping her hand away.

“What do you think you are doing?” She whispered intensely, her expression darkening before she could gauge why. Visenya wasn’t even sure why she pulled away.

Aemond looked down at his empty hand and then, met her gaze, “You defended me.” His voice plain, clinical.

“No one will believe you.” She gritted her teeth, her eyes beaming with tears as she went to turn. Fear and guilt overcame her, she couldn’t let him see how such affection warmed her heart for she could barely admit it herself.

The young prince scoffed, “I did not intend to speak of it.”

Suddenly Visenya whipped around fiercely, her gaze mad, as though his actions upon her were cruel. Aemond grew confused as she stepped towards him once more.

“Do not do that again!” Her voice a harsh whisper.

“What?” The boy shook his head, watching as she narrowed her eyes.

“Did you think we were friends? I took pity upon you! Pity, because you are but a dragonless bellyacher who was made to fuck an old whore.”  The words fell from her mouth before she could stop herself. She was livid and terrified of herself, she felt like a dragon gnawing at old bones. Visenya turned again as silence dropped quickly between the two.

As the princess turned, Aemond felt his heart shatter. He wasn’t sure what he felt for Visenya, what spurred him on to hold her hand, but her words confirmed everything he had already thought. Vain, spoiled, evil little… “Bastard.” He spat.

Visenya took a breath as the word rang, her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest, as she turned her head to gaze upon his stiff and arrogant expression, “What did you say?”

“You are a bastard-“ Aemond’s brow flickered, tilting his head in a smug, flat gaze.

Visenya felt her rage pierce through her, her hands suddenly meeting his chest as she shoved him straight to the floor. Her gaze unrelenting, brutal as he looked up to her with a wrath so apparent his very face heated. Aemond rose to his feet, fists clenched as he grasped her arm with all his might, The Princess winced, his grip tight and unyielding.

Aemond felt something beyond his understanding burn through him, his gaze no longer cold, but heated by years of pent up fury, his words like knives as he twisted her wrist, “You and your pitiful brothers may shove or taunt me all you like. It changes nothing, Visenya! You are bastards born of your mother’s whoring.”

Visenya winced again, finding the strength in her to rip herself away as angry tears fell. She clutched the tender flesh of her wrist before her words came out with a desperate intent to hurt him, “And you are a dragonless, second son, who despite being a boy grown likely still wishes he could suck at his mother’s tit!”

“I care not for what the likes of a spineless slut calls me.” His voice cold as his demeanour was composed rapidly.

“Slut? You… did you just?” The princess coughed out, stuttering in disbelief as she clambered back.

“Indeed. Your behaviour is far suited to Flea Bottom than the Red Keep. You did not protest my brother’s leering upon you until he acted upon it. You weeped out of fear, once his attentions transcended your liking. However, any honourable woman would have refuted his comments in the beginning. Not you though, for you are vain and indulgent, so it is no wonder Aegon took a liking to you, he only pursues those who he knows shan’t say no.”  Aemond’s voice matter-of-factly.

She nearly jumped upon him again, though his words made her ache beyond what she had ever felt. Shame beckoning through her like dragonfire, “You blame me?”

“Yes.” The prince nodded.

Visenya roared, lunched forward as she raised her voice, though Aemond did not flinch, “Your brother is a rotten degenerate, would you say the same if it were to happen to Helaena?”

The prince gave her a judgement look before speaking with arrogant clarity again, “It would not. My sister would not engage with such attention.  Perhaps you should take after her beh- “

“Your sister is a witless doll!” She raged forward, tears streaming as she clenched her fist.

Aemond’s expression flickered with anger once again at her cruel words of his sister, his tone warning, “Do not speak against her.” 

The young princess scoffed and laughed harshly, her tone outraged and contrasting his cool composure, “You have spoken far worse about my brothers and my mother! In fact, there are many things I might say, Uncle. Your brother is a lecherous craven, your grandfather a scheming traitor and your mother is a treacherous…. viperous cunt!”

Aemond felt his cheeks burn brighter, he wished to strike her… no to grab her by her hair and smash her pretty face against the rocks, watch it splatter upon the rocks. She was nothing, a bastard. A cruel girl with a wicked tongue; a whorish mother and a lech for a father. Before he knew what had happened he felt the harsh sting of his hand after it made contact with her damp cheek.

Visenya’s face turned, her hand clutching her cheek as tears fell. The Princess winced, his hand had whipped across her face so swiftly, leaving her no time to react. Slowly, her eyes met his and a long, bitter silence was exchanged before a familiar dark voice rang.

“Visenya?” Prince Daemon stood, cooly observing the two young Targaryen’s, his eyes glazing with a slight rage as it was clear he had seen the tail end of the events unfold. In fact, he had heard the bitter words of his daughter and nephew echoing throughout the impasse. His face stern as he looked upon his Visenya, then flickering to Aemond with a cold, warning glare. The young Prince took a step back, his eyes coming to the ground as he felt his uncle’s glare bore into him. Not him. Aemond thought.

Her eyes widened upon seeing Prince Daemon, his demeanour calm, unaffected as he extended a hand. “Come. Your mother sends for you, Princess.” Daemon’s voice carried softly throughout the cove, and Visenya said not another word before walking to him, gripping his hand as he led her away.

He brought her through the door leading into High Tide, she looked up, terrified. His gaze seemed familiarly dark as he dragged her along. Visenya whimpered, begging for him to look down upon her, to soothe her as tears fell, her heart filled with dread before she pleaded, “Please, do not tell mother… I.”

With a sudden grunt Daemon turned and forced them both into a shadowy nook within the hall, his hands forcing her shoulders into the wall as he looked down, he muttered lowly, “I care not for your murmuring Visenya. Not today. You swore you would cease this endless trouble making, and now I come to witness the Hightower boy provoked to the point of putting his hand upon you!”

Visenya shook her head, disarmed by him once again, “He-“

Daemon grabbed her chin, shaking his head as his words grew firmer, “Enough! Do you understand the difficulty that comes with me refraining from intervening? Nyke care daor qilōni fucking rhēdan ziry, nyke care bona ziry keliton lēda zȳhon ondos striking ñuha tala's laehurlion!” I care not who fucking started, I care that it ended with his hand striking my daughter’s face!

As he looked upon her frightened gaze, how the tears fell down his daughter’s sweet face, the grip upon her chin loosened as it came to cupping her cheek gently. Visenya continued to look up at him with simpering eyes, she understood her father’s wrath. This was his wife’s funeral after all, and here she was again causing more trouble than need be. Making matters worse within their House.

Daemon’s tone softened further, he sighed and regained a sense of authority, “So yes, I shall tell your mother, and yes you shall deal with the consequences, as shall the Hightower boy. I want justice and if I cannot seek it, Rhaneyra shall.”

The princess merely nodded at her father’s words, she watched his expression unfolded before her, feeling the warmth of his hands wipe her tears from her cheek. Daemon gripped her chin again, forcing her head to side so the light would catch upon her face, revealing what that little Hightower swine had done. He stroked the tender flesh as whispered cooingly, noticing reddening bloom upon her pale skin.

“Issi ao ōdrikagon?” Are you hurt?  He crooned gently, still examining her face before pulling it to centre.

Visenya shook her head, her gaze and tone fierce, “Daor” No.

A wry smile came to the Rouge Prince’s face before he chuckled lowly, amused by his daughter’s stern front, “Nēdenka zaldrītsos.” Brave little dragon.

His gaze lowered again as he spoke more sternly, rage coiling within him as he thought to what his nephew had done to her, Daemon’s eyes met hers, “Se hembar jēda ziry raises iā ondos naejot ao, kessa sagon se mōrī ēza ondos.” The next time he raises a hand to you, shall be the last he has hands.

Visenya shook her head, a need to admit the truth of it; that it was she who incited the fight once again, “Nyke inditan zirȳla, kepa.” I pushed him, Father.

Daemon’s brow flickered in surprise, not of his daughter initiating the trouble – but for the odd look of shame within her eyes about it. He grunted lowly and scoffed before speaking, “I’d imagine he deserved it, dōna riña” Sweet girl.

Her gaze weakened, she knew the truth of it, and this time; no, Aemond didn’t deserve it. She was the one who was cruel to him. He had tried to reach out, tried to find some sense to her actions, letting himself display the faintest hint of vulnerability and she punished him for it. If Daemon knew… knew that she had let Aemond’s hand linger upon hers, felt such warmth in her chest, such overwhelming affection– he would surely look at her with disgrace.

Visenya leaned in as her father’s hand brushed against her face softly, before pulling her in to a swift embrace. The small affection he could only give to her when none other might be watching. She let him believe her to be innocent, to have been justified in her actions against Aemond. Just for the simple fact, it would keep this brief moment of shared love going. Just so she would not have to watch as his doting eyes hardened. Yet, there was a dull ache that settled in her chest, a pulling familiar to her. Guilt.

How could she admit that her own pride, was wounded so easily that she was able to use her tongue as though it were a blade. That she was able to shove him without remorse. Visenya locked away those threads of thought, locked them away so she did not have to face the truth. It was her who ached, not him. Not Aemond. No, she only meant to inflict her own pain back upon him, and did so, so that she might close her eyes at night peacefully.

●

Upon that very night, in the early hours of the mourn, Visenya laid in her chamber, sleeping soundly. She felt soft hands gripping her arm shaking her to wake. The muffled whispers, like gossamer in the air as the Princess groaned softly. Her eyes opening dazedly, seeing a glimpse of moonlight locks atop a small frame. Baela.

“Sister… sister wake up…” Her light voice fluttered as she shook Visenya further.

The elder princess stirred properly, slowly sitting up, “Baela…?” She yawned lazily and leaned back, noticing her youngest sister, Rhaena standing aside – the young girls expression frazzled.

Visenya felt herself shift upwards at her sister’s worried look, concern coiled as she whispered, “Sisters, has something happened?”

Baela nodded, “You must come… somebody stole Vhagar!” She exclaimed softly.

Before Visenya knew what had happened, she had haphazardly thrown on her night robe as her siblings dragged her out from her chamber. Her eyes widened further as the sight of her two brothers, stood in the hall.

“Jace? Luke? What are you-“The princess furrowed her brows, panic ensuing within her as her eyes flickered between the dark haired boys. The halls of High Tide were deathly quiet, with only the sound of the low rumbling tide to cover their whispers.

“Come sister, we must go! Somebody has- “Jace whispered softly in the darkened hall, before he could continue, Visenya stepped forward and shook her head.

“Yes I know, somebody stole Vhagar. I suggest we all go inform the Sea Snake.” Her voice firm as she looked upon her array of siblings. Their faces coiling in protest.

Jace gritted his teeth, challenging her, “No! We shall go ourselves.”

The princess swiftly leaned forward, gripping her young brother’s arm, she felt frustration burn through her, “I am in enough trouble as is, if something happens it shall be who is blamed for not putting a stop to this!”

Jace, with all his strength pushed at Visenya’s chest, forcing her away from him. The two exchanged a startled look before he cleared his throat and spoke again, “We are going sister. Come or don’t.”

Visenya simply stood in the hall as she watched her siblings disappear into the night, her gaze wide, shocked by Jace’s actions against her. Fine, if he were to treat her in such a way, let them go get themselves harmed! She thought, though as more time passed she could not help but feel that familiar pull of regret stirring. No, she couldn’t let them go by their lonesome.

Without another thought, she ran after them, looking around to see where they may had gone too. The Princess crept around the main halls of High Tide, peering to try and find her siblings. Logically, they likely went the route of the alcove leading out to the shore, she crept down the passages, hearing familiar voices echo.

“It’s him.” Rhaena proclaimed.

“It’s me.” A deeper one responded; the haughty spite rife on their tongue.

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!” She retorted back.

Her heart thundered as saw the warm glow of the opened door to the alcove, she knew it was her siblings in there, and the other voice, well, how could she not recognise his… Aemond.

“Your mother’s dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now…” Aemond beckoned.

Rhaena’s tone fierce, “She was mine to claim.”

As Visenya approached the door, her wide eyes were met with the scene. Her four siblings all opposed a smug Aemond, she peered through, wanting desperately to join in the confrontation, though she knew she couldn’t. Not with what had already happened today, not with her mother’s reputation already waning.

The silver haired prince raised his brow smugly, and sneered as he stepped forward, “Then you should’ve claimed her! Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

Just as the words left his lips, Visenya’s eyes met his and for a brief moment she saw the anger increase tenfold as he noticed her gaze, so much so in the split second he had been distracted, Rhaena charged, growling at Aemond, instantly being thrown to the floor by him. Baela charged, punching him squarely across his pale face and he fell to the sand a low grunt leaving him.

Just as he had fallen he rose, with swiftly precision striking Baela, knocking her to the ground leaving her wincing. Aemond snarled, leaning over the young girl as she clutched her cheek, shuffling away from his hammering voice, “Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!”

In response, Jace charged but Aemond evaded his throws before the silver haired boy threw Jace to the ground – a sudden cry of Luke rang in Visenya’s ears as she watched with horror as her small brother lunged upon Aemond and his fist ram straight into Luke’s small face, forcing him too, to the ground.  Luke’s cry filled the alcove before Aemond looked up again, scoffing as he saw Visenya peering once more. Suddenly, Jace lunched once more, pushing Aemond to the floor and one by one her siblings descended upon him.

She didn’t know what to do, nor why she couldn’t move or speak. It was like one of those horrid nightmares where she found herself unable to scream or unable to run – just awaiting doom to befall her. Her eyes locked on the sight, her four siblings kicked and punching at Aemond as he writhed upon the ground whining. Baela’s fist repeatedly struck him in the chest over and over again until Aemond managed to shove Jacaerys to the floor, then Baela.

As Luke raised his fist in anger, Visenya all but gasped as Aemond gripped her younger brother’s small neck she nearly stumbled down as she saw Aemond’s blooded face sneer.

His hand rising up with a large rock gripped, ready to strike Lucerys head. “You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!” Aemond proclaimed, his voice gritted and wrathful before he looked up once more, the word practically spat from his mouth, “Bastards.”

Lucerys weeped, struggling against his much older Uncle as he choked for the slightest full breath, his voice simpering “My father’s still alive.”

Just like that, a wry haughty expression came upon Aemond’s face, as he looked to Jace letting his hand fall to his side, “He doesn’t know, does he, Lord Strong?” The silver haired boy flashed a satisfied scoff before the sharp sound of an unsheathed dagger rang.

Visenya’s heart nearly dropped as she found herself finally able to move, her feet forcing her down the few steps as she looked upon the sight of her brother pointing a dagger to Aemond, she cried, “Jace!” Her feet soon reached the sand as she stopped herself, Baela and Rhaena looking over their shoulder in fear, cowering backwards as Visenya reached for them, swiftly forcing them away. The boys began fighting once more and Jace was back upon the sand whimpering when she turned her head.

As she did so, the princess stepped in front of her half-sisters and slowly moved towards Jace as he clambered on the floor. Aemond stumbled back for a moment, regaining his footing before raising the rock up over Jace, Visenya’s eyes widened in fear as she froze, unsure of what to do.

Her gaze came to Aemond’s pleading for him to stop and as he looked at her, her chest nearly caved in upon itself as nothing, but a breathy snicker left his mouth. He was taunting her, enjoying the look of fear and helplessness upon her face as he dangled the rock over Jacaerys’ head.

Neither he nor Visenya noticed as Luke picked up Jace’s dagger and suddenly a throw of sand made its way into Aemond’s eyes causing him to break the contact with Visenya and wince in pain. As he looked back, there Luke was her small, harmless little brother clutching the blade, standing before Aemond and with a fierce pained cry, Luke slashed the blade across Aemond’s face.

It happened in seconds, before she could even register the violence before her, she only saw how Aemond had toppled to the ground, the blood splattering upon Luke’s face. Their Uncle’s unfamiliar cries of pain filling the space as he clutched his face. She hadn’t seen what was truly done, but she did see the blood pool from beneath him, tainting the white sand below.

As the Ser Harold came thundering in, she felt the small body of Luke lunge into hers, his arms wrapped around her tightly, the stench of Aemond’s blood now staining her nightrobe. She slowly embraced her little brother, pulling him tightly against her, tucking him away as she watched the writhing Aemond.

For a brief moment the silver haired boy’s wide eye met hers and princess turned away from him, shielding Lucerys from the mess he had made.

○vii○

[xheykyjx]

hot sick band bois <3

tw for pretty graphic depictions of puking ahead!! 🫶

“Shit, babe,” Cole hears Jasper mutter, and he turns around just in time to watch Oli vomit over the Target bag clenched in his hands. Cole winces sympathetically, reaching back to squeeze the top of Oli’s head in spite of the awkward angle. He feels bad that his boyfriend is feeling so shitty, but he’s also secretly glad that he called shotgun, even if it means he has to drive next. He deals with vomit just fine, but he’d also rather not end up with his own head out a window just because of the smell. 

“Do you think it was something you ate?” Jasper asks once Oli seems to be finished. He’s got one hand tucked up beneath Oli’s t-shirt, rubbing rhythmically at his spine. Oli spits into the bag, face as pale as a sheet, before he sits up enough to lean his head on Jasper’s shoulder. “I d’no,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. Cole, meanwhile, eyes the bag in his boyfriend’s hands warily. This is only the second time it’s been used, but if it breaks or overflows, Cole thinks he might throw himself out of the vehicle, so he turns around to look up the nearest gas station on his phone.

They pull over at the next stop, and it takes both Jasper and Cole to carefully maneuver their boyfriend out of the vehicle. Oli sits on the curb while Jasper disposes of the Target bag and disappears inside to grab a few things, and Cole sits up close next to his ailing boyfriend, rubbing his back and shoulders. 

Oli hiccups and burps, and Cole snorts. “Good one,” he jokes, and Oli attempts a laugh that sounds more like a grunt. “My stomach hurts.” At this, Cole turns his head enough to get a good look at his boyfriend’s face. He’s still incredibly pale, his eyes half-lidded and his arms curled over his middle. When he notices Cole staring at him, he lifts his head up enough to turn and face him fully. “Am I still pretty?” he asks, and Cole huffs a laugh in spite of the concern steadily growing within him. He’s seen Oli hungover, and motion sick, and after an adrenaline crash, and yet he’s still never looked so… so awful. Cole reaches up to push some of his hair out of his face, and Oli blinks sleepily at him. 

“Yeah,” Cole murmurs, tugging him back into his side and letting his head drop onto his shoulder. “You’re still pretty.” They sit like that for another minute or so until Jasper returns, toting another plastic bag. 

“I got some extra bags,” he says, shaking a fistful of thin plastic. “And I got you some stuff for your tummy, babe.” He crouches down, rifling through the bag, and a flutter of something warm and light sparks to life in Cole's stomach. There’s something so undeniably hot and adorable about Jasper taking care of Oli. It’s just another thing that Cole loves about him. 

Jasper pulls out a bottle of Pepto Bismol and pops open the cap. He offers the entire bottle to Oli, who makes a face but obediently takes it and swallows a generous sip. Cole could swear that his face somehow grows another shade paler, and he snakes a hand down to rest his palm on the warm expanse of Oli’s stomach over his shirt. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he soothes, rubbing little circles into Oli’s upset belly until the nauseated expression on his face finally disappears, leaving him just as exhausted-looking as before. Cole is beyond grateful that Oli is keeping the medicine down, even if it’s just for now. He’s hoping that even just a little bit in his system will help. 

“Ready to go?” Jasper asks, and Cole nods where Oli just offers a meek thumbs-up. 

---

By the time they’re finally rolling into LA, Oli is curled up across the backseat with his head in Cole's lap. Cole has a hand up against his boyfriend’s waist, laid flat against the feverish, gurgling side of Oli’s stomach. He was supposed to be on driving duty next, but after a while Oli began to tearfully complain that his bellyache wasn’t going away and Cole and Jasper unanimously decided that it was Cole's turn to caretake. 

Oli’s stomach grumbles beneath his hand and Cole purses his lips sympathetically, eyeing Oli carefully. He appears to be asleep still, face hidden in Cole's stomach, but he's starting to get the foreboding feeling that something not-so-pleasant is about to happen.

[oathkeeperoxas]

wip wednesday

getting back into the groove of more icemav now that I'm back from my holiday 😤 anyway here's some icemav skinny dipping together 💖

“Mav,” Ice says, mouth dry.

“It’s a dark night,” Mav says, tilting his head up. “Moon’s not out yet. No one’s going to see.”

It’s true; Ice can barely see Mav, and he’s fifteen paces away and looking for him. His body is a study in shadows, and Mav turns so that Ice can see all of him that’s possible in this light, before he retrieves the bottle of vodka and takes a gulp of it.

“Mav,” Ice says again as he reaches him. Mav holds the bottle out; Ice takes it and has a swig for solidarity.

“You’re wearing your swimmers,” Mav says. “You don’t need to strip. If you don’t want to.”

The water is calm, washing up on the shore slowly. The sand continues here until the water is deep enough that you can’t stand up in it, and Mav wades out fearlessly, unstoppable. Ice takes another drink from the bottle to steady himself, and then follows Mav down to the water, leaving his clothes in a pile next to Mav’s.

It’s cold; he wades up to his knees and then watches Mav fucking around in the water as the waves soak his skin. Mav’s just behind where the waves start rolling in – if he can even call them waves. You’d never surf at this beach – and is splashing, then floating, looking up at the stars. Ice keeps his eyes fixed on him. All of this could almost be routine, except for the fact that he’s here.

Mav rights himself and then comes back to Ice, dripping water. He’s serious, unsmiling, as Ice folds him into his arms despite being wet and cold. Ice isn’t wearing anything; it’s fine.

“Good to be home,” Mav says quietly into his chest. “Good to see Carole and Slider and the kid.”

“And me?” Ice asks, loneliness rising to snap at him.

“And you,” Mav agrees. He slides his arms up around Ice’s neck. Ice leans down to kiss him, and Mav moves their lips against each other slowly, their bodies warming each other where they touch. Mav’s lips are cold. Ice resolves to do something about that.

“How are you?” Ice asks, desperately. “I mean it, Mav.”

Mav sighs. “Happy to be home,” he says again. “It was fine, Ice. I mean, it fucking sucked, but I’m fine. I promise. It didn’t fuck me up. Not like–”

He buries his head in Ice’s shoulder. Ice grips him close, not needing him to finish the sentence.

“And you didn’t get hurt?” Ice asks. 

“No. Worst thing was a bellyache from all their crap food,” Mav says.

Ice swallows. “I want you to tell me all about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mav says, looking resigned. “Not tonight though, yeah?”

“Not tonight,” Ice says. “When you want to.”

“Never, then.”

“Mav…”

Mav huffs. “Okay. Next week or something then, at least.”

“Okay,” Ice agrees. That’s an easy promise to accept.

Mav tugs him out deeper into the water. Ice takes a step and then resists going any further.

“It’s cold, Mav,” he says. 

“I want to go swimming with you,” Mav says. “You know how many times I thought about that?”

And, well. He can’t say no to that.

Ice lets Mav tug him out deeper, until they’re both swimming in the dark. He can feel the warmth of the vodka in his stomach, but it’s hardly enough. He tries for a bit to do some serious swimming just to warm himself up, and finds Mav cutting through the water, chasing after him. They go back and forth for a while, sticking close to the house and not too far from the shore, until Ice gets tired and goes back in until he can stand again in the water. Mav follows without protest, and clings to Ice when he stops.

“We can’t go a little further in?” he complains.

Ice laughs. “Too deep for you?”

“I’m not that much shorter than you are,” Mav groans, but then stops when Ice gathers him in his arms and kisses him. If it weren’t so cold, being pressed naked against Mav would have been the end of him; as it is, he’s clutching Mav close, slotting their mouths together, feeling the imprint of his body where they touch.

“Mav,” Ice whispers, and now it’s Mav groaning against his mouth. 

“Okay, out, out.” 

Ice attempts to shake the sand off, but his efforts are rendered useless when Mav drags him down next to their clothes and the vodka. Ice sighs as they’re both covered, but Mav is laying down and pulling Ice down on top of him, so he stops thinking about that. They’re wet and cold and sandy, and Mav takes another long pull from the bottle, offers it to Ice. Ice is used to drinking vodka straight, but Mav has never really liked it.

“Got a taste for this while you were gone?” he asks, not bothering to cap the bottle again. More interested in licking Mav’s salt covered skin.

“Yeah,” Mav grunts, running his hands up Ice’s back. “Tastes like you.”

Ice has to kiss him again. They’re in their mid thirties, tipsy, naked on the beach, and he doesn’t care. Mav offers him more alcohol between kisses that are turning hot. Ice is warmed up again, even in the cool night, and his legs are splayed wide over Mav’s hips. He can’t hide what he wants, and he doesn’t want to.

“Mav,” Ice grunts. “Mav, let’s go inside.”

Mav laughs. “Still want a bed, Kazansky?”

“I’m not twenty,” he groans as Mav fondles his ass, squeezing firmly to bring them close together, grinding up against each other. “And there’s sand. Everywhere.”

“It’s a bit rough,” Mav agrees. “Okay, okay.”

He takes the bottle, and Ice gathers up their clothes. There’s a bathroom downstairs next to the laundry, put there for occasions exactly like this; coming into the house after swimming in the ocean. Ice puts their clothes in a hamper, Mav abandons the vodka on top of the washing machine, and they go into the shower together.

God, there really is sand everywhere – Ice scrubs it out of every crevice, washing his hair, soaping up a few times for good measure, and yet he’s still sure he’s missed some. It’s better than it was. Mav is utilitarian, gets out first which allows Ice the space to pick sand out from between his toes. Okay. Ice dries himself off in a hurry, but Mav is already gone, headed upstairs, hasn’t put any clothes on. Okay.

Ice follows him, heart in his throat, naked and warm and willing. Mav is standing by the window in their bedroom, looking out over the ocean as the moon starts to rise on the horizon. Ice can only see half his face, and even then it’s cast in shadows. He goes to turn the bedside lamp on, only for Mav to softly whisper, “Don’t.”

“Why?” Ice asks.

“Let’s just hold each other. I want to feel you.”

[balioc]

I've said it before, I'm just repeating myself at this point, but my cries have been swallowed by the winds of discourse and so I feel compelled to try once more --

The tests that get used in the US to measure "student achievement," and thereby "school effectiveness," are close to 100% worthless for the purpose.

I say this as someone who is

(a) very much in favor of using other tests to measure student achievement and thereby school effectiveness, and also

(b) very much in favor of using those tests for other purposes.

Close to 100% of the big-stakes tests, across the country, from kindergarten up through the end of high school, are either timed reading-comprehension exercises or timed basic math exercises. Which is to say: they are barely-disguised IQ tests. They do not demand any particular corpus of knowledge, or for that matter any kind of cultivated skill, beyond the absolute baseline universal standards of "can read and understand written English" and "can execute the most fundamental algebraic and geometric operations." They give points for being quick and accurate, and sometimes for being able to see through simple tricks. You do well on those tests by having a fast, agile, precise, unclouded mind and a capacious working memory.

That is not a thing that any teacher can teach.

It's an important thing. There are all sorts of circumstances where it really matters whether you have a fast, agile, precise, unclouded mind and a capacious working memory. But measuring that, and then using the results to determine whether or not a school has done its job, is pants-on-head insane.

...the trick, of course, is that -- for all the bellyaching and caterwauling about intelligence measurement -- we can all pretty much agree that, wherever they come from, reading comprehension and basic math skills are things that matter. In order to have a sane measurement system for schools, we'd have to come to a similar agreement about anything that a school could reasonably be expected to teach.

This is one reason, of many, that it is good to have an acknowledged cultural canon. But we could at least start with dropping the reading and math, and testing basic scientific and historical knowledge instead.

[marleysfinest]

I'm going to kick off my own event and shout about some of the angels who have made life truly exceptional. more 2 come!!!! I will not be cutting I'm sorry y'all are just gonna have to witness who these incredible human beans are

✨@pisspope; my spouse across the waves. the other half of my soul. the one who turned my head and made me retire the phrase of never fucking with the jaegers. u inspire me every day and the fact I get to call you a friend is insanity actually and I love u bitch

✨@fromriches-tosin; it's actually beyond my comprehension how talented u are. ruler of reijean, your fics have given me HOURS of eating the most delicious content in the world. shady queen I value so much from our home in the stables

✨ @sailorspica; it has been nothing short of an honour to be here while u discover self-shipping mrs ackerman. your writing is some of the best I've ever read and I hope u realise how gifted you are!! thank u also for turning me on to chappell roan, I fear I would've been stuck in the dark ages without u

✨@oxygenbefore1775; somehow u have been blessed not only by an immense storytelling talent but u are also an incredible artist??? the bridging tongues art will continue to live in my head rent-free until the end of time. I'm extremely grateful we can discuss period-era sukuna together

✨@strawberrystepmom; simply the kindest sweetest soul I've ever known. kendy u are sunshine personified; perhaps u did bring one s*guru g*to into my life but I forgive u. not only are you a beacon of goodness and joy you are also such a talented writer and hilariously funny. ily kendy!!!

✨@quiveringdeer; nat I gotta be honest and tell the people you are the reason I'm still here!! the first person to reach out to me when I set up this lil blog and indulge and inspire me!! I'm smooching u always!!

✨@ssslime; rorybeb I am always so elated to hear from u. you make me laugh so so so much and I'm so happy to know u. you make me feel sane when I'm bellyaching about Momming and for that I will love u until the end of time

✨@neiptune; supremely talented writer, artist, my sworn enemy. need I say more???

✨@vampyrsm; cor unum changed my life and I'm so serious when I say that. I can't adequately put into words both how much I enjoyed that fic from a story perspective and also ur intoxicating writing style. your creativity is an inspiration!!

✨@pavloves-dog; leigh I always know I can get filthy with u and ykw? that's invaluable. I simply cannot put a price on it. u r such a sweetheart and I'm so happy to know u; whether I will still be saying this when naoya is animated WE'LL SEE

✨@bloompompom; the other half of the duo making me Fuck With The Jaegers. bloomy ur art is perfection to me; ur talent is unbelievable and I'm so happy I get to witness it truly!! u r an inspiration!!!

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Cruel Summer; Part 1

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader

Summary: The reader comes in from out of town to OBX with her family when she bumps into JJ (quite literally) at a party which spurs an awkward family bathroom situation and a 'get to know you' conversation.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Flirting, swearing, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of family death.

Song: "Bellyache" by Billie Eilish

A/n: This fic, by the time I post it, will have been two months in the making. I've been planning and writing it for about a month and I'm so happy that @tee-swizzle helped fuel the fire behind my passion for this character! I hope you guys love it, this is part 1 of 5.

The Outerbanks has always been like a fever dream. 

Warm amber skies, pristine blue ocean waves, green grass and flowering trees, seemingly perfect people. 

It seems that the tourists and the natives are all on the same page, just different parts of town come with different responsibilities and different roles in the socioeconomic hierarchy of the island. Some people get up to go to work their asses off all day, fishing, selling, participating in good, honest blue collar work; but others are trust fund babies, people who hit it rich and decided to buy a big fancy boat and a big luxurious house right on the water. Both are lucky to live there but there’s downsides to each, I’m sure. 

My family is… different.

My grandmother was a family woman. She and my grandfather would chalk up the money to take us to Outerbanks once a year, sometimes every other year depending on if money was tight. My grandfather worked with gears- creating and selling them- and he owned his own business and made an honest living so he was proud to spend it on his family for a nice vacation with his wife and loved ones. 

There were about twelve of us at the time; we’d all pack up our things and make the long journey down to the island with bright smiles on our faces and excitement bubbling in our veins. It was exciting- it was all I looked forward to as a child when school would come to an end in June. I just knew that if I counted down, made the two month paper chain, we would soon venture down to Nags Head to kick back for a few weeks.

When my grandfather died, the family went their separate ways and we didn’t go back on our little adventure for nearly a decade. It was heartbreaking to see my grandmother not even want to touch any of the money the love of her life left behind, money he wanted us to spend on spending time together in his favorite place, but it was just too much for her. And when she died and left a ton of money to my mom and stepdad, we knew exactly what we had to do to make both of them proud. 

We had a trip booked within a month after the funeral, planning to spread both of their ashes in their favorite places on the anniversaries of both of their deaths, which just happened to be one day apart by a decade.

Since we’ve been back we’ve done just that, scattered their ashes (with permission of course) and celebrated their lives as a family; just me, my sister Katie, my mom and step dad, all together under one roof. We’ve played games, gone shopping, gone to the beach (obviously) and overall just had a great time like we would’ve when Katie and I were younger. There is this lingering sadness, it’s no longer a group of us, we’re no longer being corralled by my grandma and grandfather and I kept help but sense this silence that just swarms around us which makes the blue skies look a little darker, the waves a little more violent and the heat a bit more harsh. 

“Are you having fun?” Katie yells loudly over the booming music, long hair whipping in her face as the beach wind blows against us, sending shivers down my spine. I should’ve brought a sweater. 

“Yeah, I’m having fun! Just thinking about how grandma and grandpa would not approve of us getting drunk under the age of twenty one with a bunch of people we don’t know.” Katie’s head tossed back in laughter as she grabs my hands in hers, urging me to sway with her to the music and I let her with a defeated smile. “Like it’s not exactly the safest thing to do.” She gives me a tired, deadpanned look and she reaches out to smack at my arm, disapproving of my caution that I always seem to be stuck with, even in situations like this where I’m supposed to be relaxing and letting loose.

“At least we’re not like the rest of our family, they barely go on any vacations anymore- they’re practically hermits.” I chuckle, letting her twirl me under her arm as my skirt flows in the wind. She’s not exactly wrong- there are pictures all over social media of their bland life, going to their nine-to-fives before coming home and drinking themselves into a stupor. I think that’s called depression but we’re not for technicalities in this family. “Gran and gram would be happy we’re living.” I smile foldly at her with a firm nod, knowing that my grandma would’ve loved the women that my sister and I turned into. We’re free spirits, just like her, taking leaps, smiling at strangers (especially those who are rude or mean), and we’re trying our best to carry on her legacy the best we can, with each other. 

“You’re right.” I fall into her arms, wrapping mine around her in a tight hug as she lets a sigh of relief escape her lips. “Oh that note, wanna do shots?” I ask, pulling a squeal of excitement out of her as she begins to jump up and down, clapping her hands like an excited child. 

“Now we’re talking!” She cheers, dragging in glances from those close to us and I feel my cheeks growing warmer at the unwanted but earned attention. “I’ve trained you well, young Skywalker.” She yells as I walk away, my eyes rolling at her overall silliness.

I sift through the crowd of people, bumping into teens left and right as I try not to stumble onto my ass,  and I can see the bar in sight. So close yet so far. There’s about twenty feet of sand and young adults between me and the bar and I can practically feel the cold steel but before I reach it, I feel a cold substance dump down the front of my shirt and a mess of blond hair in front of me.

“Oh my god, fuck-“ I look up at to see a blue eyed boy, probably my age, standing, shocked, in front of me with a wide eyed look on his face, cheeks reddening in embarrassment as he looks square at my chest, or more at the red drink he just dumped down my bra.  “You came out of nowhere.” Definitely should’ve brought a sweater. I’m still standing, surprised, looking at him with wide eyes as I try to think of what to say but nothing can come up but curse words.

“I’m sorry, shit!” I take a step away from him, going to escape and to deal with my awkward embarrassment elsewhere but the attractive stranger reaches out to wrap his fingers around my wrist seamlessly, pulling me back towards him as I gasp, hitting his chest with a firm thud. His eyes are kind and soft, hand reaching up in surrender to show me that he means no harm and, for some reason, I choose to believe him.

“Woah, woah woah- not so fast.” He nods in the direction of the bathrooms, silently offering to help me with the mess that he made and I take a leap of faith, nodding my head, allowing him to lead me hand in hand towards the bathrooms, away from the bar and my sister and the rest of civilization. Alone with a cute, random stranger… Maybe not the best idea to wander off with a random guy at a party but there’s something about him that just makes him so easy to trust.

“It’s fine, seriously, I’ll just go clean it off.” I call out to him as the noise from the party dies down and I jog ahead so I can turn around to look back at him with a shrug but he just looks down at my shirt and frowns.

“Let me help. I feel like a dick.” He pouts, reaching past me to hold the door open to the family restroom and I take one more look back at the party and, when I see Katie talking to a handsome guy, I decide to go ahead and step under the cute stranger’s arm into the bathroom without any questions. I hoist myself up into the vanity with a sigh, head thumping back against the mirror as I avoid looking at my ruined shirt, wondering how I’m supposed to clean up a red stain this big and have it actually come clean. “It’s my friend's drink anyway so I don’t care. I’ll get a new one when I come back from helping you clean up.” 

“My knight in not so shining armor.” I laugh nervously with a gentle blush, watching him pull a few paper towels out of the dispenser before handing them to me and I try to wipe it off but to no avail, the red drink seeping further into my tan shirt with every wipe without care and I look up at the blonde with a frown. He looks nervous, biting at his lip as he watches me rub at the cotton.

“You know it.” He laughs awkwardly, taking the paper towels from me, wetting them before handing them back to me. “What’s your name?” He asks finally, leaning up against the wall in front of me, kicking his leg back to rest on the tile with a dopey smile on his face.

“Y/n. Yours?” 

“JJ Maybank.” How cute. It matches him perfectly, his baby blue eyes and soft blonde hair- the fact that he’s so tall and handsome as hell- like a prince from a Disney Princess movie. Or maybe he’s more like the boy that the Princess falls in love with because he’s not a prince. “Nice to meet you, JJ Maybank.” I hold my hand out to him which he takes almost immediately, shaking it sternly with a bright, pretty smile on his lips. “Wish we could’ve met in different circumstances.”

“Nah, spilling a drink on a pretty girl is sort of par-for-the-course for me.” He blushes, reaching up to rub bashfully at the back of his neck, bicep tensing breathtakingly, and my brows pinch together in a teasing look of confusion, head tilting at him.

“Oh you have a habit of doing it?” I ask with a snicker, watching his face pale, his finger raising to point at me, stopping me before I can get the wrong idea.

“That’s not what I meant.” I giggle, slapping a hand over my mouth as he scoffs, reaching out to slap my knee. “Oh, so you’re funny?” He smiles sarcastically as he sends me a dramatic eye roll. 

After a few seconds of silence, both of our eyes flicker down to my shirt once more to address the elephant in the room and we both wonder for a moment as to how we can clean my shirt or find another one in the meantime. It isn’t until JJ’s pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in my direction that I realize what his idea is. My jaw drops as I look down at the shirt in my lap, not appalled at all but instead incredibly more attracted to him. How chivalrous. 

“Take it.” He offers with flushed cheeks, leaning against the cold wall as I fight the urge to drift my eyes lower, seeing obvious and apparent abs in my peripheral vision as I desperately keep my gaze on his face. 

Fuck me, please. 

“Really?” I ask hesitantly, not sure if I should really just be taking a random person's shirt but I guess if it’s just out of the kindness of his own heart then… sure. He spins around on his heels, subtly offering me privacy as I slip out of my ruined shirt before throwing on his t-shirt that is definitely way too big on him which means it’s practically a dress on me. 

“Yeah, it’s not shocking for me to be lacking a shirt.” His head tilts back so he can stare at the ceiling with a chuckle and- I watch him, the way his jaw elongates into an michelangelo type curve, his shoulders, his back- he’s just sculpted- after a few moments, I give him the okay to turn around. His pupils seem to dilate in size the minute he sets eyes on me, and I can feel myself flushing just from his heated gaze. Stupid boys and their hormones.

“So you’re from here? Obviously, that was a stupid question.” I scoff at myself, reaching up to facepalm but he reaches out, fingers wrapping around my wrist to stop me with a bright smile, almost asking ‘how could you tell?’ He takes a step  towards me, almost stepping fully between my legs and I suck in a breath, trying my best to remember to breathe when all I want to do is just-

“Home sweet home, born and raised a pogue on the cut.” He shrugs proudly, arms fanning out as he bows dramatically and I give him a big round of applause which pulls a hearty laugh from him.

“I just learned that term not too long ago.”

“I was testing you, to see if you knew it. Most tourists don’t.” How could he tell I was a tourist? He winks, reaching out to pat the side of my thigh as he hops up onto the counter beside me, thigh pressing against mine and I suck in a much needed breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. What am I, twelve? Why can’t I just talk to this guy?

“We’ll I’ve been here a lot since I was younger so-”

“Honorary Kook.” He tips his hat to me with a shit eating smirk and he knocks me with his shoulder. 

“Not a Kook.” I start but he cuts me off with the clicking of his tongue in a playful tut.

“You sort of look like one.” He sighs and, though I can’t completely tell if it’s a compliment, the way he looks me over, getting a good look before meeting my gaze, makes me realize he meant it in all the best ways.  “Nice, expensive clothes, hell you can pay for the rental houses down here- that’s impressive.”

“I’m here with my family.” I huff, acting like that makes it any different but it doesn’t.

“Ah, a family of Kooks.” He says in a singsong voice but decides to cut me some slack by switching the subject after a moment of my defeated smiling. “Is that your sister you were with?”

“You were watching me prior to spilling a drink down my shirt?” I gasp, feigning shock as I press a hand to my chest, eyes widening at him as he suddenly flushes, face paling at his accidental confession and he nervously pulls his cap off to run a hand through his messy hair.

“That gave me away didn’t it?” He whispers with an awkward smile.

“Cutely, it did.” He laughs as I nudge him with my elbow, unable to maintain eye contact with him out of fear that I’ll explode from how damn cute he is. He’s so frustratingly handsome and funny and sexy- woah.

“How long are you down here for?”

“Three weeks. We got here a few days ago.” I offer, knowing exactly why he’s asking me and I feel overwhelmed with a new sense of excitement regarding this whole trip. Katie is going to hate me for abandoning her but she’ll understand when she sees him. 

“Damn, well…” He pauses, hopping down from the counter and his bashful gaze stays focused on the ground.  “Plenty of time for us to bump into each other huh?” His flirtatious offer makes me grin ten times wider, watching his hand reach out to take mine in his, pulling me back into him before I can escape from him, return to the party and not see him for the rest of the night. 

But after this interaction, I’ll look for him everywhere I go while I’m on this trip. 

“Guess so.” I smirk softly, reaching out to pat his shoulder with my free hand, not ignoring the dense, toned muscle beneath my fingertips. “You’re slick, I’ll give you that.” I laugh bashfully, looking down at his hand that still holds mine as I allow him to walk us towards the party. His thumb brushes gently across mine and I don’t miss the protective gaze in his eyes as he looks around, making sure we’re not only safe but that no one is giving us any eyes for us leaving the bathroom, him lacking a shirt and me gaining one. I can only imagine how this looks.

“I am a self proclaimed ladies man.” 

“Self proclaimed huh?” I ask, brows pulling together teasingly.  “I’ll back that up then.” He smiles excitedly then leans in towards me, lips brushing against the shell of my ear and I nearly trip over my damn feet at the feeling.

“I’m going to need to record you agreeing to that.” He whispers and I burst out in laughter, head tipping back as we reach the bar, his hand finally leaving mine, cold and empty, at my side.

“Hey JJ!” A pretty girl appears at our right about ten feet away and JJ pales and gives me an awkward smile before flagging the bartender down, ordering a quick drink before giving me his undivided attention once more. 

“Shit I gotta go. Kie was expecting that drink like twenty minutes ago. Baby gets grumpy without her bottle.” He pouts playfully and I chuckle before motioning in her direction, feeling an evident pit in the bottom of my stomach at the thought of him possibly being taken.

“Girlfriend?” I ask nervously but he shakes his head with a wicked, devilish grin.

“Single.” He nods sternly, head tilting cutely at me as he asks, “boyfriend?”

“Also single.” I shrug, backing away from him slowly as he processes the new information, eyes swimming with mischievous ideas already.

“Alright… See you around Kook!” He sends me a polite tip of his hat with a teasing smile and, in return, I send him my middle finger and a wink.

“Not a Kook!"

[myreia]

Familiar Shores

Characters: Tansui, Rasho, Meryta Khatin (WoL) Pairings: Tansui x Meryta Summary: The day is bright and warm as Tansui distracts himself, wondering when his lover will return. When will she come back to him? Rating: Teen Notes: For @thevikingwoman. Happy belated birthday, Viking! Mwha! 💕💋 2,456 words Read on AO3

Simple tasks and simple chores may not be the most exciting part of his life, but it’s on days like these that Tansui is grateful for the work.

The sun beats down from an azure sky, baking the shores of Onokoro they may as well simmer like the coast of Hells’ Lid. The kind of sun that leads to slow, languid days. Their people have scattered, seeking relief on the seas or under shade. Some of the young Confederates took off this morning to fish and relax. With a pang, he wishes he had joined them, but the youth deserve time to explore and discover away from the watchful eye of their elders. The past few weeks have given little time for rest and relaxation; with more Garleans in the Ruby Seas and a malfunction in the Onokoro aetheryte, the Confederacy has been busier than usual.  

And so, he has found himself, as he often does, busied on the dock, making minor repairs to his boat. The vessel is small, little more than a two-person sailing dinghy used for servicing large ships or sailing around the bay. Though the keel is worn and the sides scarred from years of use, she still makes for a serviceable boat if you don’t mind her bellyaching. She’s been all but marooned for the past three moons.

His fault, running her aground. He knows these seas, he should have known better. Then again, it was a bit difficult to pay attention, given where Meryta decided to put her hands.  

Tansui sighs and stretches, wiping sweat from his brow. Water laps around his legs, tugging and pulling as the waves flow in and out. The memory, though distant, is a good one, still capable of bringing a rosy flush to his cheeks that has nothing to do with sunburn. It was his idea to escape that night to sail below the moon and the stars. Just the two of them in such close quarters with calm waters all around…  

She brings out something of a romantic in him. A romantic more fitting of a younger man, and yet here he is, finding convoluted and ill-advised ways to give her the world when she’s here and thinking about it when she isn’t.

He wets his lips—the dry, salty taste sharp on his tongue—and tilts his head back, enjoying the briny wind and spray of mist on his face. A smile spreads from ear to ear. Meryta. Soaring in and out of his life just as the birds migrate. Here one moment and gone the next, as variable as the changing tides. She never stays long, though sometimes he senses she would like otherwise. He does not mind. He can wait for her and wait some more.

There is no doubt in his heart she will find her way back to him.

His smile fades. Every time she returns, little pieces of her have changed. A shift in her demeanour, a change in her speech. Consequences, however small, of a time spent in places he does not know or understand. Sometimes he thinks the call of the Warrior of Light is too great a burden for any one person to carry. But what does he know of the fate of gods and primals and other worlds?

He is simply a pirate.

“Tansui!” A gruff hand claps him across the back and Rasho throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him away from the boat. “Brilliant day for a nameday, eh?”

Tansui chortles and twists around, water sloshing around his knees. “And here I’d just about forgotten,” he returns, ducking out from his grip. “Namedays come and go, this one is no more remarkable than the last.”

Rasho chuckles. “Aye, perhaps it is, perhaps tis not,” he replies with an irritatingly knowing smirk on his face. What does he know that Tansui doesn’t? “Take a moment to enjoy yourself, my friend. You should be playing dice or drinking or napping on a day like today.”

“I’m in the water, that’s all I need. Besides, someone has to look after her.” He shrugs in the direction of his boat. “Fix her up and she’ll be good as new.”

Rasho’s smirk widens. By the kami, what has gotten into him? “Very well, very well,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “But don’t work yourself to the bone, you hear? Have it on good authority you’ll want to be around for tonight.”

He snorts with laughter. Whatever his friend is implying, he’ll know in due course. “Understood, captain.”

“Oh, and Tansui… Keep an eye out for interlopers. On the sea and in the skies. Don’t want anyone slipping by on our watch. Not with Garleans on our doorstep.”

“Perhaps we should raise the tithe, given the trouble.”

The smirk is back. “I will leave that decision in your capable hands,” he says. “Do let me know what you decide to raise it to. And for whom.”

Tansui frowns.

Rasho raises his head. “Ah. Look’s like she’s getting away from you.”

Tansui curses and spins around just in time to see his boat pull free of her ropes and float away from the dock. Inhaling a deep breath, he ignores Rasho’s booming laugh and plunges beneath the waves. He swims swiftly, his haori dragging behind him, and catches the boat’s bowline. Grunting, he treads water and wraps the rope around his arm, then begins to haul his escapee back to shore.

Minutes pass, water rushing in his ears, foam spraying in his face. Still, he cannot help but laugh at his foolish error. The sea is warm, the sun is bright, a stray cloud passes overheard. There are worse things in the world. 

At last, he reaches the end of the dock, panting and spitting salt water from his mouth. He goes under again, testing the depths, searching for the bottom with the tips of his toes. When the water closes over his head, he shoots back up and surfaces, hair loosened from its braid and flying into his eyes. He could round the dock and return to where he was, but this will do. Perhaps Rasho is right. He’s struggled enough with the boat for today.

He raises an arm, preparing to heave the rope up and tie it properly to the post.   

A shadow falls across him and, for the briefest of moments, his heart stops.

A Xaela warrior stands above him on the edge of the dock. She is wrapped in a heavy blue coat that leaves her upper arms bare, a sheathed katana at her side. Cropped green hair frames her face and horns, and her vibrant purple eyes observe him with calm certainty. Her tail flicks back and forth, the end curling and uncurling as those familiar eyes look him up and down, lingering on his bare chest beneath his open haori. She is aglow, the light illuminating her so perfectly from behind that he could be staring into the sun.

No wonder some call her the Warrior of Light.   

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. There are countless things he could say to her—things he has dreamed of, things he has played over again and again during restless hours at night—and yet all thought is driven from his mind.

A wave smacks him in the face, brine splashing into his mouth. He splutters, coughing, and the next moment he finds her unbuckling her katana and setting it aside. She kneels on the dock, hand outstretched, and grasps his hand with hers. His thumb presses against her wrist, brushing past sensitive scales to where her pulse beats, strong and firm.

“Meryta,” he breathes. “You’re back.”

A smile spreads across her face, bright as the rising sun. “Would you like some help?” she asks.

He stares at her like a fool. “You’re back.”

“You’re in the water.”

“I was fixing my boat. She escaped. I was fetching her.” He swallows, the taste of salt fresh on his tongue. “You’re back.”

She meets his eyes. “That’s the third time you’ve said that.” Her voice is soft and full of wonder, as if she can’t quite believe she is here either. Her grip tightens, fingertips pressing into the back of his hand. Locked. As if the tides themselves could not pull them apart. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

He returns her gaze. “I can do you one more,” he replies, shooting her a roguish grin. “You’re back.”

And he pulls her into the sea.

She yelps as she goes under, plunging into the depths in a rush of bubbles. He chases, sinking below, joy beating frenetically in his heart. When he opens his eyes, all is turquoise and green and blue and purple, watery light spiralling in from above, white bubbles spinning all around. He catches her in his arms and crushes his mouth to hers.

Warmth floods him. Her lips are soft and inviting and wondrous as she kisses him back, delightful and delectable and filled with such sweet promises. She clings to him, enveloping herself around him with her hands cradled at the base of his neck and her tail wrapped around his leg. This moment below the waves cannot last—he does not have the Kojin’s gift the way she does—but here in this watery domain there is nothing but them. Nothing but time. Nothing but peace.

They surface together, locked in a kiss, his hair tangled about his face, hers plastered across her forehead. Then finally they part, foreheads pressed together, legs and tail entwined, and bob in the gentle waves, catching their breath. They drift slowly away from the dock, their sodden clothes fanning about them.

“Ass,” Meryta says.

“Pirate,” Tansui replies with a wink.

She giggles and splashes water at him. “Is this what counts as a nice greeting? After how long I’ve been away?”

“Any greeting where I get to kiss you is nice, no?”

She sighs happily and clutches him, her legs floating up behind her as she rests her head in the crook of his neck, mindful of her horns. “I tried to teleport here, but it wouldn’t work,” she murmurs. “And then I thought… The worst came to mind. I’ve been occupied elsewhere and the Alliance is not always as complete with its intelligence as I would like.”

“We’re fine. An ordinary malfunction, as far as I know.” He pauses, threading his fingers through her wet hair, admiring its shine. “How did you get here? No ships have docked today.”

“I flew. I didn’t want to miss your nameday.” His heart swells. She knows. She remembers. He does not recall telling her. With a shrug, she kicks her feet, splashing the water, and propels them further from the dock. Back on shore, a yellow chocobo pokes curiously at the beach, nosing a large shell with its beak. “When there’s no aetheryte, Lucida takes me where I need to go.”

“You crossed the seas by air.” Fucking Rasho, that is what he meant, wasn’t it? He must have heard she was in the area, making her way back. He leans back, hair floating in the water, and stares at the cloudless sky, laughter rumbling in his chest. “Imagine that. Perhaps I should demand a new tithe for that.”

Warm fingers loop around his neck, tilting him up. “I’ve already paid your Ruby Tithe,” she reminds him huskily, kissing him. “I suppose we can strike a bargain as to what this new one will look like.”

“Consider me listening.”

“Are you accepting suggestions?”

“Consider me open.”

She drags a hand down his neck and across his collarbone, splaying her fingers across his broad chest. “Let’s get out of the water,” she murmurs. “Maybe then we can find a way to bargain in earnest.”

“You have no idea how dearly I would like to.” He kisses her again, hands threaded in her hair, savouring her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, her everything. By the kami, it has been too long. He has told himself again and again that he is a patient man—at least where she is concerned—but if you asked him to describe himself now, that patience is nowhere to be found. “You know the way.”

“I do.”

“We should get to shore.”

“We should.”

“Put some other clothes on. Preferably something not wet.”

She whines, the smallest of sounds humming on her lips. “Must we?”

“I—ah, fuck.” He pulls away, still clinging onto her as he stares ahead at the small boat rolling away on the cresting waves as if she has a mind of her own. “My boat…”

Meryta squirms, twisting around. “Your boat?”

“That one there.”

“The one where we—”

“Aye, yes, that’s the one.” Tansui sighs. “Too late to retrieve her now, the tides have taken her. By the time we seek her out, she will have run aground on a reef.”

A gentle smile tugs at her lips. “Can you get another one?”

“Aye, but tis not that one.” He sighs again, cursing his foolish mistake. Boats come and go, this he knows, and yet this one was special. She made it special. “We should return to shore.”

Judging from the furrow in her brow, she is still lost in thought. “Can you build another boat?” she asks, staring at his vessel as she crests another wave. Gone, gone, and out of sight. “Certainly the Confederacy has a shipwright, or do you steal all your ships from your neighbours?”

He snorts. “There is one, yes, Meryta, thank you, but I would not trouble him for this.”

“If I were to supply the resources, would he be willing to teach me?”

“What are you saying? That you will build me another boat?”

She turns his face towards hers and grins. “There’s more in my kit than a katana and a bow, you know,” she says. “I have a saw and a few other tools. I’ve never made a boat before, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn. Perhaps I can contact Gridania and ask Beatin if he has any advice.” Her eyes brighten, limbal rings glowing, enthralled by the idea. “Race you to shore?”

He blinks, still stuck on the part where she said she would build him a boat, and nods. With a whoop, she dashes ahead, swimming freely beneath the waves. He gives chase, splashing after her until his feet touch ground. Then he breaks into a run, sloshing through the water until he has caught her again. She laughs, giggling madly as he lifts her into the air, kissing her again as they spin about on the white hot sands.

Namedays come and go, and this one he will remember.