#Travel Pin Map

[weherzit]

[pitsommelier]

One of these days, the confluence of my snuff, cnc, and prey kinks are going to get me into trouble

[g0dlyunsub]

don't pretend.

spencer can see through all of your lies, including the bruises you’re hiding behind makeup.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of prisons, physical violence, bruises, reader gets injured, patching up, fluff

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: oh, looks like i’ve spawned another hurt/comfort fic yet again…

accompanying song :: who hurt you by role model

you’re an ambitious profiler. 

you’re such an ambitious profiler that you interview offenders with the most extensive list of records whenever you have time. you want to understand more than just the simple question of why they did it. you want to explore the how’s and what if’s.

and you’re soft-hearted, so much so that you jeopardize your own safety. 

things should’ve gone smoothly with your fifth and last inmate of the week, had you been a little more aware of your surroundings.

but you placed too much faith on your ability to make peace with the man who unyieldingly worshiped violence.

that was your only mistake, but it was a costly one. 

you had kindly asked the guard to release the handcuffs, even though he insisted that they stay on. 

it’s alright, you told him with the wave of your hand. 

but you should’ve noticed the look of challenge on the inmate’s face. it was like he was taunting you, almost as if to say, do you really feel safe being in the same room as me?

it was your soft-heartedness that almost got you severely injured. 

he managed to land punches to your left cheek and scratched his nails into the flesh of your leg as he fell, right as he was tackled to the ground. 

he laughed when he saw you holding your hand against your throbbing cheek.

you arrive at the office as early as you can, a layer of makeup thicker than usual coating the bruise swelling your left cheek. 

you pretend to bury your head in the case file that you retrieved from your desk when the rest of the team started to flood into the room.

when spencer arrives, he gives you a nod and gleefully chirps good morning as he takes his seat beside you. 

spencer knows your routine like the back of his palm – he knows you’re busy with interviews at the federal prison on saturdays and sundays, and he knows you always need a caffeine boost the next morning. you gladly accept the cup of coffee that he sets in front of your hands with a small smile.

as hotch is debriefing the case with garcia, however, you can’t help but feel his eyes drilling into the side of your face, as if he can see through your cover. 

your makeup can’t be that obvious, right?

your thoughts are interrupted when hotch closes the cover of his case file, stands, and announces wheels up in 20. 

you lift yourself with the support of the table and wait for everyone else to exit before you follow, doing your best to disguise the limp in your walk.

---

“alright. jj and prentiss, go to the morgue. morgan and reid, go to the crime scene. dave, you and l/n can set up with the local p.d. i’ll go talk to the victims’ families.”

as hotch assigns roles to the team, everyone nods when their names are called out. but spencer raises his hand slightly and clears his throat.

“actually, hotch, do you mind if i switch with rossi and set up with l/n and the locals instead?”

hotch hesitates for a second, but nods slowly. 

“sure. dave, you okay with that?”

the italian agent cocks up a questioning eyebrow but gives a warm smile. “i don’t see why not.”

you’ve never heard spencer contest hotch’s orders before, so you’re stumped as to why he’s suggesting an alternative role this time. but you soon brush off the thought, and decide to occupy your time re-reading the case files before the jet lands.

you sink into your seat with a heavy sigh, forcing your eyes shut as pain travels down your legs. you’re thankful that hotch assigned you to set up at the local p.d., since it doesn’t require much locomotion and spares you the struggle of getting up constantly. you watch as spencer spreads the corners of the map and sticks push pins into the corkboard. 

“how did your interviews go yesterday?” spencer breaks the silence first and moves to grab a red marker. with his practiced hand, he quickly circles the areas of the crime scenes on the map.

you gulp.

“they went pretty well, you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”

spencer caps the tip, and a click sounds as the plastic edges meet. he nods, wets his lips with his tongue, and turns to look at you. you meet his gaze for a brief second before you look away, pretending to busy yourself with the m.e. reports that jj sent over.

“green neutralizes red.”

his sudden remark startles you. you drop the papers in your hands and look up. “i’m sorry?”

“green contains the wavelengths that are missing in red light, so when they mix, the colors neutralize each other. that’s why concealers with a green base are better at covering up more reddish bruising,” spencer elaborates, and starts to match up the photos of the crime scenes to the locations marked on the map.

you blink. oh.

there’s no way he’s talking about you, right?

“um, yeah, green’s a common color corrector,” you mutter as you nervously tap your fingers against the wooden table. “but there weren’t any bruises or marks of assault on the victims.” 

spencer scoffs as you finish your sentence.

“it’s not about the victims. you. i’m talking about you.” 

you swallow slowly. 

“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you try, a fake smile plastered over your face as you shake your head left and right. 

spencer studies you with a scrutinizing stare, eyes boring into yours like he’s counting the number of times you blink.

“could you grab that for me?” he asks at last, pointing to the book that’s two tables away, the one titled florida’s topography and bathymetry. without thinking, you nod and stand.

fuck.

what a clever way to set you up. now you have to somehow mask the limp in your steps and pretend like the pain coursing through your legs is nonexistent.

you do your best to walk normally, but it’s hard to tell if you’re doing a good job from his unreadable stare. you hold the book out with a bemused smile, hoping it’s enough to cover your pained expression.

he doesn’t look convinced. 

“that,” spencer points to your leg with an accusatory gaze, “why are you walking like that?” 

he swiftly takes the book from you, and your hand instinctively grips the side of the table for support.

“like what?” 

you’re going to make him pry the confession out of you. 

“like you’re hurting,” spencer utters quietly. his last word catches your breath completely.

“is that why you asked rossi to switch with you? so you could interrogate me?” 

“who hurt you?” spencer ignores your question, setting the book aside and leaning over the table to get a closer look at your face. 

instinctively, you retreat and look down, but he walks around the table and kneels in front of you. your brain buzzes with the words he’s just declared. it’s not what did you do, or what happened to you. instead, it’s who hurt you. 

“i… it’s nothing.” you shift in your chair, but he stops the seat from turning completely by laying a hand on the headrest.

“tell me. please.” 

you can’t fake it anymore, especially when he’s already hammered the nail into the hole perfectly.

you rub your sweaty palms on your lap. “one of them tried to hurt me during the interview. i-it was my fault, i asked the guards to take off the cuffs. i thought they’d be more willing to cooperate that way.”

spencer’s expression mellows as you speak, but he doesn’t return a comment. somehow, this makes you even more nervous.

a second after, he lifts his hand and slides a finger along the slightly swollen area of your cheek. he hesitates when you start to wince in pain.

tapping his knee with his index finger, he instructs, “let me take a look at your leg.”

you comply.

when you lift your leg, spencer’s hand slips between the wedge of your platform's heel, and gracefully sets your foot on his knee. 

you observe him gently push the thin fabric of your trousers upwards. you hold your breath when he leans in to inspect closely, and you almost shudder when the vapor of his warm breath tickles the gash on your flared shin. 

spencer steps back to retrieve a first-aid kit lying nearby and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. without saying a single word, he pulls a cotton pad and a gauze roll from the bag.

as he wraps your leg with the gauze, he looks up to meet your lowered gaze.

“tell me his name.”

you bite your lip.

“it’s fine. you should focus on the geo-profile instead.” you exhale as spencer unfolds the rolls on the hem of your trousers to cover your leg again.

“you do know that it won’t take me long to go through every incident report,” he retorts back with a challenging glint in his eye. your cheeks heat up with a hot flush of red.

goddamnit, spencer reid. 

you hastily brush yourself away from him.

“what are you going to do?”

he pauses, every second of silence only feeding your suspicions. you watch the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

“you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”

you huff.

“don’t use my words against me.” 

he shrugs with an indifferent expression, but chuckles before standing back up.

“his name. or do we want to do this the hard way?”

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Undead Florist

Anon said: Basically, I just wanted Danny to deliver flowers to the Justice League heroes from his fans. If you can include Everlasting Trio. U can add whatever crack you think would be best! Thank you!

Clark is in the middle of blocking a heat ray attack from a robot that copies the powers of any Justice League member when the unexpected happens. A kid, no older than fourteen, boldly walks into the battlefield carrying a lavish bouquet of red roses and trigger lilies.

He's dressed in a worker uniform: light brown khakis, a black shirt with a light-born vest, and a black baseball hat resting neatly on his head. There is a company logo on the upper right of his vest but Clark does not recognize the stylized D.

There was a still moment when Clark's super speed could see the exact second Amazo spotted the child. The boy wasn't paying attention, staring at his phone screen, which had the faint details of a map, and had two headphones in his ear.

Clark's eyes widen in horror, and he opens his mouth to try to shout a warning—though he doubts the kid could hear him over the loud music playing in his ear—but before he can, Amazo flung out an arm straight at the kid's head, still pinning Clark down with a cheap version of his own laser ray eyes.

No! No, please, he's so young! He pleads mentally, frozen in horror as the robot's hand goes right through the kid's head. It took a solid minute for Clark to realize that Amazo's hand hadn't ripped through the skull of the child but rather had passed through him as if the boy was not physically there.

From underneath a black baseball cap, brim, electric blue eyes stare at Amazo. Gesturing vaguely to the arm going through his head, the boy frowns. "Rude much?"

"Access: Black Canary," Amazo says in response, his jaw opening wider as a super-powered scream is released, pointing black at the kid's face.

The frown on the worker deepens as the boy reaches up and- slaps the android in the face? "Dude, I'm trying to work. I have like eight flower deliveries today. Also, that was a weak imitation. This is a real Ghostly Wail."

He opens his jaw, letting out a sound that wasn't as loud as Black Canary or Amazo but somehow worse.

And the sound—the unholy screech that releases from the child sends Clark to his knees, quivering in his boots as Amazo disintegrates right before his eyes. The only thing left of the android is a smothering pair of robotic legs that fall over with a loud thump.

The boy huffs, paying no mind to the fact that he took out the enemy the league had spent the last six hours fighting before Clark tried to lure it away from the city. He merely glances back at his phone, following the little moving icon on the map until he stands before the fallen hero.

"Hi! Are you Superman?" The kid asks in a polite, chipper tone. It's such a whiplash change between his normal voice and his customer service voice that it sets in. This is really just a Tuesday for him.

Clark opens and closes his mouth with a weak "Yes" and is pushed out.

The kid's smile grows as he pushes the flowers into his arms. Clark nearly drops the vase, scrambling to get a good hold of them as the kid pulls out a harmonica and plays a little jingle. It sounds like a mix between Happy Birthday and Ring Around the Roses.

Once he is done, the boy holds out his arms wide open and loudly proclaims, in a very obvious Transatlantic accent, which makes him sound... rather otherwordly: "These flowers are sent by your fan Kattie Longsmith in Metropolis, wishing to thank you for rescuing her mother and brother from a fire. She wants to remind you that she is your biggest fan and hopes you have a lovely day. Thank you for selecting the Undead Florist as your means of flora travel!"

With a theatric bow, the boy blinks out of existence.

Clark is left kneeling alone in a destroyed cornfield, beating black and blue, while holding a vase of lavished roses and lilies. He is unsure how long he will stay there, trying to process what he just saw as the Batplane flies onto the scene, Bruce jumping out of it with a cry of his name.

Batman growls upon taking in the scene before his friend rushes to his side. "What happened?"

"I ugh...I got a flower delivery." He manages to utter, eyes still trained on the spot of the strange kid.

"What?"

"Trust me, I'm as confused."

It turns out that Clark's delivery is not an isolated incident. Over the past three months, various Justice League members have reported similar interactions with the Undead Florist.

Flash got a bouquet while trying to stop Captain Cold. The kid had wandered in the middle of a fight, unfreezing the speedster to hand over yellow lilies and sunflowers from a little boy named Teddy Smith in Central City. He had melted the freeze ray that was shot at him while Barry was in the middle of a panic, thinking he would watch a child die.

One little jingle and message was delivered in a Transatlantic accent later, and the boy was gone without a trace again. Bruce had gone to the scene, trying to find anything that could give him some clue, but he disputed the clear picture of his face and the recording of his voice. Nothing about the boy came up in their systems.

Wonder Woman was next, receiving two large bouquets of roses from a fellow woman she had rescued named Trix Cooperman. Her jingle was slightly smoother jazz , and the message leaned towards romantic than gratitude from a fan, but the boy had delivered it nonetheless.

He also took out Cheetah with a well-placed punch, highly impressing Diana. He had the makings of a warrior.

Then Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Martian Man Hunter, Batman, Martian Man Hunter, Hawkgirl, Aquaman, Zatanna, and surprisingly Vigilante each got their own flower grams.

None of them were able to get any information about the child, seeing as he only appeared when the members were in the middle of a fight, which was driving Bruce mad.

Of course, they had tracked down all the clients but met a dead end when each claimed they had never placed an order with Undead Florist. Even when Diana was holding her rope, the people gave the same answer.

They had no idea why Undead Florist was delivering flowers in their name or where the message that came along with the flowers appeared from. The chilling part was that the messages did actively represent their emotions and feelings towards the heroes, but how the overpowered child knew that was left unanswered.

The other thing that bothered Bruce was that the Undead Florist only appeared when they were in battle.

"Maybe it's because he doesn't know how to find you otherwise," Nightwing suggested at the Justice League-wide meeting.

"He uses a GPS that is locked into the heroes." Batman grunts, not dismissing the suggestion but challenging it, which causes his eldest son to shrug.

"Undead could be following online tips or something. It's not like the Leauge is seen just strolling around the cities, but people tweak when they do happen to see us."

"We could test that. Have a group of heroes just relaxing at a cafe or something. See where he appears and if there is a pattern after monitoring social media." Red Robin suggests, rubbing his chin.

Batman considers it before nodding. "I shall divide the teams."

The Justice League goes out, doing as instructed, and sure enough, they find the Undead Florist appearing more and more. Red Robing happily puts together the pattern, pointing to social media generated by the younger generation's demographics.

Undead Florist is an actual teenager using DCtweets to find heroes to bring flowers to. They have enough proof of that to show he's harmless if one ignores his more than impressive battle skills.

"Now all we need to do is catch him," Clark announces. "We don't want to scare him, but the Justice League really needs to know how he's doing all of this. It could be a security risk."

Meanwhile, Danny chills in his haunt, watching Sam tend to the flowers in a large greenhouse he placed for her. Tucker is typing away on a ghost zone-powered supercomputer, looking at all the Soul orders their business is getting.

The Ghost Zone didn't have a formal currency; they had Deals instead. Even small unconscious deals—like wishing on a shooting star, throwing a coin in a fountain, or sending a prayer or two—could be turned into deals if a higher being encountered them.

Luckily for those people, Danny and his lovers are very kind higher beings and choose to complete their requests in a way that satisfies all of their obsessions without stealing souls.

Sam got to spread her greenery across worlds, Tucker got to spend time with tech from different universes and Danny was able to explore and protect the souls of humans.

That Danny could exchange these Soul orders for gold was no one business but their own.

"Ohhh, another order, Red Robin, from Universe Nine!" Tucker crows. "It's roses in the shape of a heart from Kon-el. Aw, he's in love with his best friend!"

"That's sweet." Danny smiles, leaning over his boyfriend's shoulder to read the message he must memorize when he struts into Gotham. "I know how much fun dating best friends is."

"Let's help those losers confess then!" Sam calls, raising her hands as roses of various colors burst to life around her.

[innerfare]

You See His Cabin For The First Time  

Summary: You see their cabin (or in Sabo's case, his bedroom at the RA base) for the first time.

Characters: Luffy, Usopp, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: He's literally so proud of just his hammock. Insists it can hold the both of you and could probably hold the entire crew if you tried, asks if you want to try, asks you if you’re sure when you say no. Definitely has a couple of dirty dishes that he’s forgotten about, as well as a few wrappers on the floor. Has some fishing poles, a net, quite a few different games, and a bookshelf that’s full of both comic books and snacks so that he doesn’t have to go all the way to the kitchen if he gets hungry in the middle of the night. 

Zoro: Your first thought is, why does it smell so freaking good in here? You expected dirty laundry strewn around and the stench of sweat and maybe a hint of metal from those blades he was always sharpening. And sure, there is a hint of metal in the air, probably more from the many weights against the wall than his swords, but it also smells fresh, like laundry detergent. He has his own wanted posters on his wall- not just the current one, but the old ones, too, all of them lined up in order so you can see his increasing bounty. He also has a collection of unique booze bottles from all over the world, his equivalent of keeping a map with pins in the locations he’s visited. Oh, and there’s an anatomy coloring book and some markers that belong to Chopper that Zoro keeps in his room because sometimes when Chopper is having a bad day, he wants to chill with his dad big bro. 

Sanji: Sparkling clean, and yet, he’ll apologize anyway because the pillows aren’t fluffy enough, the rug isn’t completely straight, etcetera. His closet is very well organized, all of his clothes ironed and properly taken care of (Sanji’s the rare type to actually read labels and do his laundry accordingly). His most prized possession is a book on the All Blue, which he’s poured over countless times, using color coded tabs to flag various pages and writing detailed notes in the margins. He also came across one of Zeff’s old wanted posters in Loguetown, and he keeps it framed next to his own, the closest thing he has to a family photo.

Usopp: You’re surprised to find he has quite a bit of clutter in his small space. He has a collection of different style slingshots and a surplus of supplies to fix them should they ever break, as well as literal boxes full of special stars and ammunition. He has an entire set up rigged on his desk to create more, and some plants in his windowsill to grow ingredients. In addition, his bookshelves are heavy with various collections of fables and tales; he’s working on his own and hopes to publish it one day, but he doesn’t talk about it because he’s worried nobody will take him seriously, and you only learn about it when you see the notebook he left on his bed. He also has a couple of fun hats, crazy sunglasses, and feather boas that he definitely pulls out when the Straw Hats get a little too drunk. Oh, and there’s a picture of his parents on his nightstand. 

Ace: His cabin is pretty sparse because he tends to travel light. He has a collection of animal teeth secured from a menagerie of wild beasts he’s taken down over the years, and he’s very proud of those teeth. He'll tell you about each one if you ask, is practically bursting at the seems with stories. He has way more animal teeth than he does clothing or books. Also has a pretty sick tiger pelt for a rug (he had intended it as a blanket, but he runs so hot he can’t actually sleep with it). He has Luffy’s wanted poster on his wall, and beside it, a note reminding himself to send money back to Dadan on the first of every month. Buried in the chest at the foot of his bed, he has the original ASL flag. 

Sabo: His bedroom at the Revolutionary Army’s base is a total bachelor pad, and when you see it for the first time, it wasn’t planned, so he’s a little embarrassed by the state of it. He has some dirty dishes he forgot about, some dirty laundry on the floor, and a pile of books on his bed. He spends virtually no time there and probably wouldn’t even have furniture beyond a mattress on the floor if it wasn’t provided by the Revolutionary Army as part of his living quarters. That being said, he did pin Luffy’s and Ace’s wanted posters to his wall, and he has a couple of different lotions and skincare products on his bathroom counter. 

Law: You don’t know what you were expecting- would it be sterile like an operating room? You’re surprised to see comic books and a few action figures. He has some records, too- a bit of rock, some low-key emo music- and to your complete and utter surprise, a candy wrapper on his nightstand. And then there’s the coin collection on his desk, tiny pieces of metal he picked up on his many travels. You’re careful not to have a big reaction to his personality showing through for once. 

“I like your action figures.” 

“They’re kind of childish, but-” 

You cut him off before he can dismiss his own interests as dumb. “No, they’re not. They’re cool.” 

Kid: It’s as messy and ostentatious as you’d expect, but he sheepishly tries to fold the leopard-print blanket crumpled on the bed and put some laundry in the hamper, though you quickly deduce he has no clue which clothes belong in the hamper and which go in his closet. It’s shocking to see him care what someone thinks. He has a pile of lipstick and nail polish on his desk and an impressive collection of weapons he’s stolen from various pirates; he could probably open a museum with all the weapons he has. Also has lots of tools he forgot were in there. TBH, he’s probably as shocked as you are by the state of his cabin because he spends most of his alone time in his workshop, anyway. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[colorrangeart]

[princessbrunette]

at some point bounty hunter Rafe would let you go cause he feels bad but then two hours later you’re showing up back at the hotel room because you want to suck dick 🤦‍♀️ this would me at least

🐄⋆୨୧⋆⋆˚🎀˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡🎲

he’d screwed up. with his dad, with the money he had, with you — he’d just screwed it all up.

he was midway through a breakdown, having left you alone in the motel room to angrily walk about with his hat low, huffing and puffing out his nose. you jumped when he returned, the door vibrating the walls with the way he slammed it. you thought he might’ve turned the anger round onto you, perhaps deciding that today was the day he would finally lay his hands on you properly. instead, you’re faced with the unexpected. he marches over to you curled by the radiator, squats down and seethes:

“get out.”

you blink, tired from the long day so it took you a second to process things.

“wh—get… out?—”

“get out, alright — don’t make me repeat myself.” with that, he stands back to his full height, gripping your arms as he does and lurching you to stand too, your dress riding up slightly with the movement. your legs nearly don’t support you as he places you back on your feet and you stand infront of him like a lost puppy, blinking rapidly to try and make sense of things. it’s then he’s zipping around, throwing the small amount of your things strewn around the motel room into a little packing case, barely fastening it as he shoves it to your chest, making you stumble. “alright? before i change my god damn mind. get out, go — you wanted freedom? here’s your freedom. out.” he drags you to the door and throws you out like you meant nothing, like you hadn’t been travelling by his side for months now.

you turn around, still unable to speak, clutching your brown leather packing case to your chest with one of your shoes still hanging off your foot a little. you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d done something to upset him so greatly. really you should be happy — rafe stole you from your land, this is what you wanted right?

digging hurriedly through his back pocket, rafe produces a fistful of notes and grabs your hand, forcing your fingers open to press the money into your clammy palm.

“shit, s’all i got okay? should be enough to get you far from here. i’m done.” he gestures you to run along before disappearing back into the motel and shutting the door. it was all just so… sudden.

truthfully, he felt bad. you didn’t deserve this life. he knew that from the start but now he really understood it. he’d fallen out with his father, who’d lost all interest in having you taken anyway — so it seems rafe’s efforts went under-appreciated. he was getting paid like he should be, because he’d been spending all his money on playing house with you. you had to go, for all reasons above you just… had to.

you silently waddle through the dusty streets, blinking into thin air as your brain wracks all the reasons he could’ve rid of you so abruptly. heading into a diner, you perch awkwardly in a booth for a few hours, sipping at milkshakes and eating fries as you ponder a map that you’d snatched from what had been left at a vacant table. the nearest motel was a fifteen minute walk, you could stay there until you get your bearings.

you don’t make it to the motel, infact — you sit in the diner until it’s dark, the only visitors being the odd lone traveller, making no effort to engage with the world around them, bandanas covering faces and dust kicking inside from their boots. you didn’t feel particularly safe anymore, and in that moment you realised that you hadn’t felt unsafe in a while. infact, you felt the most safe pinned to rafe’s side when he’d drag you about location to location— he made sure not a hair on your head was ever harmed unless from his own roughing up.

lip quivering, you feel conflicted. rafe took you from everything you ever knew, and up until this point you’d lived a comfortable life. but you’d grown attached to him in ways you couldn’t explain. seemingly— you had a choice to make, because you could start to make your way back to where rafe took you from. or…

three knocks sound at rafe’s door, and for some reason — despite there being no one else it could’ve been — he was surprised to see you. you looked dishevelled, lost, tired — still clutching the packing case to your chest as if you’d never moved from the spot he’d left you.

“fuck are you doing back here, huh? didn’t i tell you to leave?” he’d lost that aggression from earlier, now just tired — bordering on exasperated, sad.

you can’t find the words, so you throw your case inside the room and wrap your arms around him, rubbing your cheek into his warmth. he stares down at you, arms by his side.

“i don’t want to go.” you whisper, and with the motel door still wide open, blowing in sandy draft — you sink to your knees, big watery eyes staring up at him. “i wont go.” you reiterate, pressing kisses to his crotch, the one way you knew how to ‘apologise’ because that’s what he taught you.

“kid…”

you didn’t know what you were apologising for, you were just making up for whatever the hell it was that made him throw you out in the first place. you had nowhere to be. nowhere to go. you just wanted to be here, with rafe, making him happy enough to keep you as his like before.

he leans over to shut the door, scoffing in disbelief as you clumsily work at his thick leather belt. you mutter something desperate and slurred but he doesn’t understand you.

“shit i uh… guess it’s true what they say about caged birds. you keep one caged up long enough and it’ll never wanna fly again.”

🐄⋆୨୧⋆⋆˚🎀˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡🎲

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 12: Please Call Me Only If You Are Coming Home]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥳 Be sure to vote in our final poll, which will be pinned at the top of my blog per usual 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Homecoming” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What the hell do you need that for?” Cregan says to Helaena in the next aisle over, sounding alarmed. You are raiding a Kwik Stop just outside Colusa, California, following Route 20 west towards the Pacific Ocean. But when Helaena replies, her voice is perfectly soothing, lyrical, too serene for the way the world is now.

“It’s not for me. It’s just in case anyone ever finds themselves in need of one.” And this makes sense, even though you can’t see what it is she’s taken off the disorderly, ransacked shelves; Helaena is always picking up trinkets to keep stowed away in her burlap messenger bag until their utility becomes essential.

Cregan is relieved. “Oh, okay, gotcha. Whew, you almost gave me a heart attack there, Miss LaeLae…”

Ice is stretched out and dozing on the cool tile floor. Luke and Rhaena are keeping watch by the front of the store. Aegon is standing by the decommissioned Icee machine and showing Daeron which route he’s marked on his map and why.

“Why do I need to know this?” Daeron is asking.

Aegon snorts. “In case I get killed, dumbass…”

Fluttering pieces of paper hang taped to the glass doors of the empty refrigerators: Don’t go towards Sacramento; People in Santa Rosa killed my brother for his car; Andrew Lounsbury, if you see this we are headed to Aunt Sarah’s house, meet us there! Meanwhile, in your own aisle, Aemond is watching you as your fingers flit through packages of Starbursts and Jolly Ranchers and Life Savers Gummies, separating the trash from the ones that haven’t been opened yet. His expression is wary, uncertain. “What?” you ask him.

“Are you…okay?” Aemond says, low enough that no one else will hear.

Of course you aren’t; you keep walking into rooms and looking for Rio, and he’s not there. But you know what Aemond means. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Did I hurt you? Are you…” He steps closer, the blue of his eye gleaming with attentive, penitent concern, sins he is certain he must have committed. “Are you sore, are you bleeding at all?”

You smile, just the ghost of a curve at the edge of your lips. “No, really, I feel fine.” And in your body, this is true. There is a tension that has vanished from your muscles, a softness in your bones, not shards of glass shifting beneath skin but living things like the branches of trees, flexible, green, damp life awash within.

“I was trying to…you know…take it slow and be super gentle, but then…by the end…”

“Aemond, you did everything right.”

And he exhales all the iron-heavy dread he’s been carrying around since he woke up this morning to find you already gone—showing Aegon how to flip Bisquick pancakes as Cregan browned them in a skillet in the woodstove downstairs—and you realize how much you’ve scared him. “I’m really sorry about…” He touches his chin restlessly. “I should have asked you if you wanted me to pull out, I just got, uh…kind of…distracted.”

Your smile grows; now you can feel it in your eyes, warm and luminous. “It’s alright. I did too.”

He is hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t have told you to stop. And anyway, I think we’re safe.” But of course you’ve lost track of the days, and in your dark trance of grief and Tramadol you were entirely unaware of the rhythms of your body, pangs of desire or clear ample wetness, biological cues, primal timekeeping.

“Cool,” Aemond says, now trying to sound casual. “And next time…are you thinking that I should try to…maybe…just to be sure…?”

You shrug, then tell him the first thing that comes into your mind, that flashes in your skull like lightning bugs at dusk. “I’m thinking that life is too short and too rare to put effort into preventing it.”

Aemond’s eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t seem disappointed. “So we’ll see what happens.”

“If you’re onboard.”

“I’m totally onboard. I just want to take care of you. I…” He glances down at his palms—open, clean—and then looks back up at you. “I’ve never had anything that felt right before. Not my family, not myself, nothing. But this feels right. And it’s where I want to be forever.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” And this is what everyone thought: Jace, Baela, Rio. But you make the oath anyway, a hollow promise that echoes like a windchime.

“Me either,” Aemond vows.

You turn to leave the aisle and your backpack hits the shelf, knocking something off the top and onto the tile floor, where it lands with a thump. You gasp, and people come running; but it’s only a box of Honey Buns that was stashed somewhere too high for you to see. “It’s nothing,” you assure them. “We’re all okay, no need to get excited.”

“Death by Little Debbie,” Aegon says, chuckling nervously, his heart still racing.

You pick up the box and think of Rio with abrupt, violent clarity: he’s playing with French-speaking kids on the beach outside Djibouti City, he’s drinking cans of Guinness with you under a full moon on Diego Garcia, he’s reaching out from the pier to pet finless porpoises in Chinhae, he’s bleeding to death on a floor in Winnemucca, Nevada. Your vision is blurring with tears; your throat is knotted and scalding.

“I want him back,” Aegon says softly.

“I know. I do too.” You open the box of Honey Buns and pass one to Aegon first, then distribute the rest. There are only six total. Helaena tries to give hers to Cregan, but he rips it in half so they can share; Aemond insists you take the last one. You eat it wordlessly, sugar melting into your bloodstream.

“I think I saw a minivan down the side street,” Luke says as he chews his Honey Bun, waving his binoculars with his free hand. “It’s probably out of gas like all the others, but…”

“We’ll check it out,” Aemond replies, and everyone follows him as he departs from the Kwik Stop.

It’s a green Kia Carnival with a zombie trapped inside: once a young man in a Nirvana t-shirt, now a ghoul that paws at the glass with its oozing hands and licks the windows, long animal drags of a decomposing tongue. But the fuel cap is still closed, and while the van is turned off you can see the keys dangling from the ignition.

“Think there’s any gas left in the tank?” Daeron says brightly. The Targaryen beach house, following the indirect route you must take to avoid the cities, is about 250 miles from where you are now in Colusa. That’s two weeks on foot, or as few as five hours by car.

Rhaena goes for the driver’s side door. “Let’s find out.” She yanks on the handle to discover it’s locked. Cregan uses his axe to shatter the window, and the zombie tumbles gracelessly out onto the pavement, rancid skin and necrotic muscle ripping from its bones. As it crawls towards the siren call of fresh meat, Ice barks viciously and Cregan swings his axe. The blade slices easily through the monster’s skull, and its flailing, murderous limbs go still.

Rhaena reaches through the broken window to unlock the doors, climbs into the driver’s seat, and turns the key in the ignition. There is a blessed sound: the thunder of a living engine. “Half a tank!” Rhaena cheers.

Aegon gags as he opens the passenger’s side door. “Oh, it reeks so bad…”

“We’ll roll down all the windows,” Aemond says curtly.

“There are organs on the floor! What the fuck is that, a liver?!”

Aemond gives it a cursory glance. “Looks like a spleen.”

“I don’t want to sit near a spleen! I don’t even know what a spleen does!”

“Then throw it outside somewhere!” Aemond snaps. “You’re thirty years old, you can’t clean a minivan?!”

Aegon grumbles as he uses sheets of Burger King coupons from the glovebox to toss zombie guts into the grass. Aemond wipes down the hard surfaces with antiseptic. Luke keeps watch and Daeron shoots down several zombies as they lurch out of nearby houses and towards the Kia Carnival. You ask Helaena for the box of 9mm bullets in her messenger bag and she gives it to you. You load your Beretta M9, stow the remaining bullets in your backpack, and take aim at the approaching zombies to make sure you still know how to get into the rhythm, that you can still be a killer when the circumstances require it. You are out of practice, but you’re beginning to feel more like yourself again. Aemond brought you back. They all did.

When the minivan is as clean as possible, everyone hurries inside and Rhaena drives west on Route 20 under the afternoon sun. At the intersection with Route 53, Aegon directs Rhaena to follow it south around Clear Lake, then to take Route 29 west through rolling hills that were once filled with vineyards, wineries, music, weddings, horse farms. Now the land is hushed, and wild, and dotted with silhouettes that sway drunkenly and swipe at vultures when they try to gobble tattered strips of putrid flesh that unravel from bones like the bandages of a mummy.

The Kia Carnival rides Route 175 west and then Route 101 south, where the earth turns dry and rocky and barren, reminding you of northern Nevada and piling stones of heartache in your belly. In a place called Pieta—an old 1800s railroad depot, according to a plaque mounted just off the road—Rhaena slows down to get a better look at something that doesn’t make any sense. There is a souvenir shop of rocks and gems, now long out of business, and in a shed beside the main building hangs a gruesome specimen that you can see through the open doors. It has two arms and two legs, but it’s not a zombie. Its flayed flesh is a vibrant, healthy red; parts of the thighs and chest have been carefully carved away like cuts of meat are sliced from beef cattle. It is suspended on meat hooks. It is being butchered.

Cregan notes uneasily: “That ain’t an opossum or a bison.”

“I think it’s human,” Aemond says, horrified.

“Guess we’re not stopping for the night anytime soon,” Rhaena quips, then floors the gas pedal.

One of Aegon’s mixtapes spins in the CD player. From the speakers flows Somebody To You by The Vamps.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you see anyone now?” Aemond asks.

Luke speaks without looking away from his binoculars. “And for the fourth time, my answer remains no.”

After a night’s rest in a cabin at Camp Liahona Redwoods in Sonoma County, you followed California State Route 1 down the coast of the Pacific Ocean until the Kia Carnival finally ran out of gas just south of Olema, a small town founded in the 1850s. A ten-mile hike has brought you to the cliff where the fabled Targaryen beach house is perched with a few hours left before sunset. The ailing daylight is golden, the wave crests glittering, gulls cawing as they swoop through the salt-lashed air. From the road that twists like a snake through the slopes of Bolinas—thick with redwoods, Douglas firs, oaks, cypresses, tall grass that whips in the wind and tufts of eucalyptus—Luke is searching the property. It is less a house than a mansion, a museum, a monument, a work of art: sharp rectangular lines and glass walls, balconies, fountains, a pool, a garden.

Cregan whistles. “A place like that has to cost a million dollars.”

“Try fifteen million,” Aemond says distractedly, and Cregan gawks at him.

“Well, from what I can see it looks safe,” Luke declares, lowering his binoculars. “No zombies.”

“You really think they’re in there?” Daeron asks eagerly. “Mom and Criston?”

“Yeah, kid,” Aegon says, squeezing Daeron’s shoulder; but his voice is morose, like he knows he has surrendered to something, a path of least resistance, a hostile planet’s gravity. “Of course they are. Let’s go say hi.”

At the end of the driveway, the five-car garage is open. There is an Alfa Romeo, a Porsche, a Ferrari, a Ducati motorcycle, and a white Chevy Tahoe, which Aemond says belongs to Criston. And there are other items of interest mounted on the walls.

“Yes!” Daeron says as he runs to a quiver full of arrows for his compound bow. Aegon lifts a golf club out of its bag and makes an imaginary putt, getting reacquainted with the feeling of his hands on the grip.

“This is an iron,” Aegon says when he catches you watching him. In the shade of the garage, he pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up into his windswept hair. “It’s metal all the way through and gives you good control over the shot. Drivers are for long-distance, and wedges and putters don’t have enough power. But an iron is just right.”

“Are you going to teach me how to golf?”

Aegon grins, his first real smile all day. “You think you can handle it, SunChips?”

“I don’t,” you answer honestly, and he laughs.

“If you teach me how to shoot, I’ll teach you how to golf.”

“An unfair trade! My skill is useful.”

Aemond knocks on the door that connects the garage to the main house. “Mom? Criston?” There is no response; all of you wait for one, listening intently through the crashes of waves and reverberating gull shrieks. Ice begins to pace agitatedly and nudges Cregan’s hands. He looks at Aemond, half-fear and half-sympathy.

“No,” Aemond says. “No, she’s wrong.”

“She might be,” Cregan replies, steady and ever-agreeable. Helaena is wringing her small, gentle hands. Everyone is watching Aemond to see what they should do next.

He pounds on the door again, this time with a closed fist. “Mom, we’re home! Mom? Criston? It’s me! It’s Aemond!”

Still, there is no answer. Aemond tries the doorknob, and it turns unimpeded. It is unlocked. He opens the door, peeks inside, and then crosses through the threshold. The rest of you trail him like he has eight shadows, the last in the shape of a wolf.

You step into the living room: wide open windows, the ocean breeze breathing through the house. The air tastes like sand and saltwater, sun and blue skies. There are three-story glass walls that overlook the water, a staircase leading up to the next floor, pristine white couches, black end tables topped with vases full of dead flowers, grey marble floors, bejeweled golden crosses that glint cruelly in the bloody late-afternoon light, family photographs on the mantle of the fireplace. There are many pictures of Aemond, and some of Helaena and Daeron as well. You don’t see a single photo of Aegon. He notices you scanning the snapshots in the frames and looks away, ashamed.

“Mom?” Aemond calls, his voice ricocheting through the vast, open space, clinical like a hospital or a morgue. “Criston?”

“Grandpa?” Helaena says meekly. Cregan is clutching his axe and peering around vigilantly. Ice whines and paces, her strange yellow eyes glowing like flecks of gold in a stream. Rhaena tries to soothe her with ear scratches; Ice begins to howl, low long mournful sounds.

You catch Aegon’s attention when he glances at you again. “This isn’t right,” you whisper. “If they were here, they would have heard us by now.”

Aegon turns to his brother. “Hey, Aemond…”

And then there are footsteps from upstairs, slow and shambling. Everyone looks, and it appears at the top of the steps like a mirage or a night terror, like a wrathful god glaring down from Mount Olympus. Long, filthy strands of white hair hang from what is left of its scalp. Its gore-stained teeth are bared. Its eyes are cloudy like the poisoned atmosphere of another planet, one gasp enough to singe your lungs and infect your bloodstream. The snarls pour out ragged and rasping from its disintegrating vocal chords. The man was wearing a suit when he died, and the pale blue shirt is now splattered with crimson and bits of rotting flesh. The black leather shoes on its feet clop as the zombie descends the staircase with staggering, unnatural steps, its decaying arms grasping for the mortals who wait below.

Daeron says numbly: “Dad?”

Aemond’s eye is wide and dazed. Ice is growling. Helaena is screaming and fleeing towards the wall; Cregan embraces her and she clings to him. “Aemond? Buddy?” Cregan shouts. “How do you want to handle this?” And what he means is: Do you want to kill it, or should someone else? Do you need time to process what’s happened? How can we help you?

“Aemond?” you say. You touch his arm; he doesn’t react. Rhaena draws her Ruger but doesn’t shoot yet. She is looking to Aemond for permission. Luke is standing in front of Rhaena and forcing her backwards as the zombie nears the bottom of the staircase. Now you can smell it: dark wet rot, spoiled meat, blood and oily fat and organs putrefying in a threadbare patchwork of flesh.

“Dad!” Daeron wails, and he’s covering his face with his hands because he knows what this must mean for the rest of his family too.

“Aemond?!” Rhaena yells. “Aemond, what do you want us to do?!”

You reach for your M9 as the zombie’s leather shoes settle on the marble floor. This seems to shake Aemond from his paralysis.

“No,” he says. “I’ll do it.” He grabs his Glock and aims, but his finger hesitates on the trigger. And you can see the ghosts of the people who have died by his hands lurking in the crystalline blue of his remaining eye: Alys, Jace, Baela and her baby…and now Viserys Targaryen too.

In the lull, in the indecision, Aegon roars and swings his golf club. The metal head collides with the zombie’s skull. Weak corroded bone collapses; blood and brains the color of black mold leak out onto the polished marble.

“It wasn’t enough, huh?!” Aegon screams, then hits the zombie again. The corpse crumples to the floor, but Aegon isn’t done yet. “You couldn’t just fuck everything up when you were alive, you had to keep torturing us from beyond the grave, you sick bastard, you selfish prick, what is wrong with you?!” He whacks the carcass with his golf club again and again. “I hate you! I hate you! You deserved so much worse than this! We crossed an entire goddamn country, and Jace died, and Baela died, and Rio died, all so we could get back here, and now it’s all for nothing because you’ve destroyed everyone you’ve ever touched! I fucking hate you!”

Aegon strikes the zombie one last time—the skull is a pulverized soup of gore and bone fragments—and before anyone can reach for him, he has bolted up the steps to search the rest of the house. You find them in their final resting places: bones in the hallway interspersed with gold rings and a medallion of Saint Irene of Thessaloniki, bones in the shower pierced with stainless steel surgical screws from hip and knee replacements, bones in the master bedroom entangled with shreds of a bloodstained silk nightgown and long locks of auburn hair. Daeron is sobbing, and Cregan takes Helaena outside to the garden to calm down, and Aemond wanders through the rooms in shock. You don’t know what to say to him; you remember how nothing anyone said made a difference when Rio died. But Aegon is furious. He tears away from everyone and goes to his bedroom: racks full of CDs, neon green blankets, an acoustic guitar propped in one corner. Then he ravages his hiding places—inside drawers, under his mattress, on tiny shelves he carved into the walls behind golf and Green Day posters—and collects mint tins. Then he pours out the white powder inside onto his desk and arranges it into lines like contrails behind airplanes, like wagon trails across the earth.

You try to stop him. “Aegon, wait, please don’t—”

“Get the fuck out,” he hisses, and for the first time you see the cold reptilian sheen of something like hate in his eyes. “You don’t have to pretend to love me. I can be alone. I’m used to it.”

“Aegon, I’m not—”

“They’re gone. You can leave too.” Then he slams the door and locks it.

~~~~~~~~~~

While Aegon is upstairs getting high and Helaena is downstairs inventorying supplies in the massive walk-in pantry, the rest of you use shovels from the garage to bury what is left of the bodies in the backyard, unceremonious shallow graves, the soil too rocky for anything more elaborate. Rhaena uses her jagged sliver of slate to mark stones with their names and a few kind words about each of them; but Viserys’ stone is left blank. Then Rhaena returns inside to help Helaena prepare for dinner, while Daeron inspects the perimeter of the house with Cregan and Ice. Luke uses a telescope near the pool not to gaze up at the rising stars but to study the neighboring properties.

Aemond murmurs as he stands in front of the four graves: “I should have gotten here sooner. Maybe I could have saved them.”

“You still have a family,” you say, begging him to believe that there are things worth living for. “You have Aegon and Daeron and Helaena, Rhaena, Luke, Cregan. And you have me.”

Aemond stares out over the Pacific Ocean. The sky above is red and lavender, fire and dreams. “How do we get to Diego Garcia?” He is only half-joking.

“Well you just find a boat and row about 10,000 miles that way.”

He sighs and drags his trembling fingers through his hair. It has always been his job to know what happens next, and now he doesn’t. Gulls squawk and wheel in the air. His right cheek glistens with tears.

“I never saw the ocean until I joined the Navy,” you say, and Aemond looks over at you, curious but not wanting to react in the wrong way and scare you into going quiet again. He’s always mining for details of your past, and you’re endlessly evading him. But perhaps you have been too secretive. He wants to know these things because he wants to know you, and you have no idea how long you’ll be here to shed your mysteries. If a story dies with you, it dies forever.

“Really?”

“Yeah. My mother…Mama, I always called her Mama…she went to Virginia Beach a few times while I was growing up, and that was her favorite place in the world. But she never took me with her. She’d go with my aunt or my oldest brothers. So when I got to basic training on the shore of Lake Michigan, that was the closest thing to an ocean I’d ever seen, and it absolutely amazed me.”

“Lake Michigan,” Aemond repeats, trying not to sound like he’s mocking you.

You smile. “And then of course I ended up in some more impressive places. But compared to Soft Shell, Lake Michigan was a whole different planet.”

“Soft Shell?”

“Like softshell turtles. They’re one of those animals that are so ugly they’re almost cute. We have a lot of them in Kentucky. Well, we used to. Maybe people ate them all when the food ran out.”

“Soft Shell, Kentucky,” Aemond says. “What was it like? I mean…I know you left, and I know you had good reasons…but I’ve never been to Kentucky. I’ve never really been to Appalachia period.”

“It’s beautiful. You get all four seasons, and you’re out in nature all the time, and it feels old, like hardly anything has changed there in thousands of years. You feel connected to the earth. I loved the forests and the mountains. I don’t think I realized how much I loved certain things about where I’m from until I’d been gone for years. I didn’t leave because I had to get away from Kentucky. I left because I had to get away from who I was when I was there, you know? Someone lonely and helpless. But how my family was isn’t Kentucky’s fault.”

“No,” Aemond muses. “I suppose not.” You begin walking together back towards the house.

“Ready for more bad news?” Luke asks, and gestures for you and Aemond to peer through the telescope. Aemond lets you go first, and immediately you see what Luke means. There are zombies in the surrounding hills, and not just a few. There are hundreds, stumbling around aimlessly and posing no current threat; but you are not safe here.

“We don’t have enough people to defend ourselves,” Aemond says once he’s taken a look, tapping his chin in that way that he does when he’s fearful but trying to hide it.

“No, we don’t,” Luke agrees.

“And there aren’t many natural resources here to subsist on. Even the fishing prospects aren’t great without a boat or a pier.”

“Right,” Luke says.

You wonder if Aemond is thinking the same thing you are. He might not know what has to happen next, but you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dining room table—large enough to seat twenty—is illuminated with candles, meticulously arranged with china and silverware, and cluttered with canned soups from brands you’ve never seen before: Amy’s, Pacific Foods, Health Valley. There are cases of Perrier and San Pellegrino to drink, and bottles of Chateau Lafite Rothschild red wine. Everyone else is here except Aegon. You are just about to go find him when he comes rushing down the staircase and into the dining room. He is wearing clothes from his closet here: a salmon pink polo that emphasizes his sunburn, khaki shorts, a white puka shell necklace, Sperry Bahama sneakers. The left shoe just barely fits over the bandages still protecting his healing left leg. There are fingerprints of white powder on the front of his shirt.

“Oh, look!” he announces. “Isn’t this precious? A family dinner?”

“Aegon, please sit down,” Aemond says briskly.

“Come on, it’ll be just like old times. We have all four of us kids, and then…Rhaena, you can be my dear departed Grandpa Otto, you just have to scowl at everyone…and Luke can be Criston.”

Luke is confused. “What—?”

“No no no! Don’t worry. It’s a very easy part. All you have to do is gaze worshipfully at Aemond and talk about how brilliant he is. There’s really not much to it, and honestly you do a lot of that already. And then…” Aegon floats by you, skimming his palm down the length of your hair. Something about the weight of his hand gives you goosebumps: careless, careful, fleeting, intimate. He sighs: “My beautiful, tortured mother.”

“Aegon, sit down,” Aemond orders.

“Father!” Aegon cries out suddenly, spotting Cregan at the head of the table. Cregan looks around the dining room, baffled. “You’ve joined us! How unusual! Did your Titanic replicas spontaneously combust? Did the world end? Well, actually, it sort of did…”

“Buddy, I have no earthly clue what you’re trying to—”

“Now this is a tough part,” Aegon says forcefully. “Patriarch of the Targaryen dynasty, big shoes to fill! But don’t worry, I’m here to help. I’ll give you your lines. All you have to do is repeat after me, okay?”

Cregan studies him and does not assent.

Aegon slams both palms down onto the table. “You’re so fucking stupid, Aegon. You’re a humiliation, Aegon. Why can’t you be smart like Aemond, or sweet like Helaena, or obedient like Daeron? Why did my firstborn child turn out to be such a fucking waste?”

“I’m not going to say that,” Cregan replies quietly.

“Say it,” Aegon seethes.

Now Daeron is weeping between spoonfuls of Amy’s tortilla soup straight from the can. “I want to go home.”

“We are home,” Aemond says.

“This isn’t home anymore, Aemond,” Daeron sniffles.

Aegon is still trying to feed Cregan lines. “Have you found a wife yet, Aegon? No, of course you haven’t. You’ve got hands like a rat and a disposition to match. You’re an overgrown vermin, you’re a plague to every house you enter. Who would fuck you out of anything but greed or pity?”

“Aegon, please stop,” Aemond pleads, wincing and rubbing his forehead.

Helaena folds her arms atop the table and rests her head on them, hiding her face. Luke and Rhaena keep their eyes downcast. Daeron reaches for a bottle of red wine, but Aegon swats his hand away.

“Nope. Illegal. You’re not 21.”

“Aegon, seriously, I’m so over that joke—”

“Shut up. You can’t even get a tattoo without parental consent.”

“Our parents are dead!” Daeron shouts. “They died terrible deaths and they’re never coming back and you’re making everything worse!”

“Then get rid of me! Put me out on the street and I won’t be anyone’s problem anymore! I’ll get murdered or eaten and it’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you!”

Helaena breaks down sobbing, and before Aegon can register what’s happening Cregan scoops him up off the floor and throws him over one broad shoulder. Then Cregan lugs him upstairs as Aegon struggles and yowls and punches at Cregan’s back, all in vain. You can hear a lot of commotion and then finally Cregan reappears, sweat beading on his brow but otherwise composed.

“I tied him to his bedframe with an extension cord,” Cregan says. “I don’t think he’ll be making any more trouble this evening.”

“Thank you,” Aemond replies, defeated.

“If he’s going to be up there all night, he’ll need water and food,” you say. “And enough blankets to make sure he’s warm.” It gets chilly when the sun goes down here, as low as the 50s. You grab two bottles of Perrier off the table and stand to bring them upstairs to Aegon, but Cregan gently takes them out of your hands.

“I’ll make sure he’s well supplied, Miss Chips,” Cregan insists, and you are convinced he thinks he’s doing you a favor. He doesn’t want Aegon to have the opportunity to upset anybody further. And yet a part of you is undeniably disappointed.

Aegon has been gone for ten minutes, and you miss him already.

~~~~~~~~~~

In Aemond’s childhood bedroom, a huge, impersonal, spartan space, the very few pieces of furniture all in the same color scheme of white and navy blue, you cannot say anything to bring his family back to life, or his friends, or the possibilities of what his life might have been before the dead began to walk. But you remember what he did for you when Rio died and you were sinking in dark, numb despair, and so you take Aemond’s hands and place them on your body—skimming under your t-shirt, circling around your waist—offering yourself like a sacrifice that you both desperately need, like a shot of antivenom that will only buy you hours. He draws you into his lap, and beneath your palms and your lips and your thighs, you can feel him coming back to you, filling up with light like a horizon at dawn.

“I’m still here,” you whisper as he throws you down onto the bed, eases himself into you, carries you away like a ship coasting out into open water. I don’t ever want to be anywhere but here.

Aemond holds you after, ensnared in sweat-damp sheets and entwined fingers, and he confesses: “I knew it was possible that they might not still be alive. Logically, I knew that. But it was like I never allowed myself to feel it. And now it’s…it’s…it’s all at once and it’s too much. I can’t fathom that I’ll never see them again. But I don’t even have time to mourn. I need to figure out where we’re going next.”

“Aemond?”

His lips to your forehead, his voice a drowsy murmur: “Hm?”

“I have to tell Rio’s family what happened to him.”

He pulls back to look at you. “You want to go to Oregon?”

“What if Odessa really is safe?”

At first he is bewildered; then he begins to consider it. “Criston’s Tahoe is in the garage. If we siphon the gas left in all the vehicles, we might have enough to get us halfway there.”

“That’s a lot better than none of the way there.”

“We’ll all have to vote on it. The trip will be dangerous.”

“Everything is now.”

“Almost everything,” he teases, his hand sliding down between your legs, taking you far away again.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, you find Aegon at the cliffside smoking one of his Marlboro Golds, slow meditative drags, eyes bloodshot with lack of sleep. That’s alright. He can nap in the Tahoe. Rhaena won’t need his directions for a while; you’ll stay northbound on Route 1 for 200 miles before cutting inland as you near the Oregon border.

You sit down on the sandy, shrub-strewn ground beside Aegon and wait for him to speak. It takes a while, but you don’t mind. You’ve always had patience; you’ve always been a better listener than someone who fills silences.

At last Aegon says: “I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

“Then stop.”

He smirks bitterly, glaring out into the sunrise, orange light like fire on his sunburned face. “You make reinvention sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy. But it is simple. You decide to get out, and then you do it. You don’t let anything convince you to give up or change course. The only way out is through.”

“I have a proposition.”

“I’m still not interested in fake dating you.”

He cackles. “No, it’s something else.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

Now Aegon is serious. “I don’t ever want to split up again. Not in a year, not in ten years, not in twenty. Never.”

You smile as you watch the reflection of the dawn in his eyes, murky faraway blue like oceans all across the globe. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of commitment.”

“I want to take care of you until you die. I want you to take care of me until I die. And that’s as far as commitment goes with me.”

“Deal.” You offer Aegon your hand.

He shakes it. “Deal.”

Two hours later, Criston Cole’s white Chevy Tahoe is loaded high with supplies—including several of Aegon’s golf clubs and his acoustic guitar—and heading north on Route 1, a Fall Out Boy song from one of Aegon’s mixtapes blaring through the speakers:

“When Rome’s in ruins

We are the lions, free of the Colosseums

In poison places, we are antivenom

We’re the beginning of the end…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and wait for the sapphire-and-gold Bay Area to become the misty, primordial emerald green of the Pacific Northwest.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 2

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

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Idk why but I'm so over dealing with people!

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You swipe away another phone call. You have at least a dozen missed. Let them buzz in your pocket for another few hours. You try not to think about it as you turn your attention back to the plot before you, the tight foot by foot square, and continue to gently sift through the dirt. You stop only to make notes on the map and examine the odd bit of animal bones you find. 

Bzzzzzz. The constant vibration in your pants makes you anxious. You should put it to silent but keep forgetting. Whatever. You’re busy. Whoever it is will have to wait. You know who it is. He’s been calling for days. You’ve been ignoring him just as long. 

You should pick up. You should be there for him. You should be happy for him but your heart feels rotten. Years of pining and you can’t pretend any longer. Not after the party. Not after seeing him on his knee for another woman. That’s it. That’s the seal on the envelope. The dream is crumpled up and in the bin. 

He didn’t even notice that you left early. You don’t think anyone did. You spent all those weeks planning and fretting and laying awake at night and for what? To pretend that it could ever be all for you?  

You sigh and sit back on your heel, one leg bent under you as you rest your arm on your other knee. You blow an insect away from your face and push your hat back. The sun beats down, offering great light for the excavation but less than ideal temperature. 

“Eh, there you are,” Arturo waltzes up in his round tinted spectacles, “find anything good?” 

“Nah,” you shake your head and shrug. 

“You know where you’d find something amazing? Norway,” he smirks, hands on his hips. “So... you thought about it?” 

“Mm, yeah, been thinking,” you utter dully as you look up at him from under the brim of your hat. “When do you need a decision?” 

“The sooner the better. The grant proposal is all but approved, we just need a name on that blank line,” he says, “this could be really good for you. No, I know it will be good.” 

“Right,” you nod and stand up, dusting off your tan pants, “I know you said you weren’t sure but any idea how long? I’d have to worry about my apartment and telling my family...” 

“A year. That’s about right,” he proclaims, “could be longer but I’d plan for that.” 

“A year?” You wisp as your chest deflates. You put your hand on your pocket as your phone buzzes again. “Wow.” 

“You really want to spend another year in the city sweating for crow bones?” He asks. “Not trying to push you but these opportunities don’t come along often.” 

“Norway,” you suck your teeth and angle your chin as you think, “viking stuff?” 

“Possibly, could be an early Christian settlement too. How about I send you the proposal and you give it a look?” 

“Sure, I... I guess I should.” 

“It’ll all be taken care of; accommodation, travel, stipend,” he lists off with his fingers. “I know it’s not Ireland like you wanted.” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you assure him, “I’ll keep thinking.” 

He winks and grins triumphantly, “tomorrow. I need to know tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” You echo back in a hollow murmur. 

He’s already walking away. Your phone starts to shake again and you growl. You shove your hand in your pocket and rip it out. Your gloves smear dirt on the screen as you press the red button. You pause before you can drag your thumb over. You inhale and push your finger the other direction. 

“Bucky,” you answer in confusion. He wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t an emergency. 

“Ah, there you are kid,” Steve’s voice comes in place of the expected timbre. You hiss. “You avoiding me or something?” 

“Uh, no,” you reply thinly, “I’m working,” you rub the back of your neck with your other hand, “it’s been busy and I’m sure you’ve been running all around with... everything.” 

You can’t bring yourself to say it. Wedding. Ugh. He’s getting married... to her. 

“Well, Peggy’s doing most of the planning, really. I don’t know,” he chuckles crisply, “you know, more a lady’s thing. She’s already knee-deep in the engagement party. Maybe you could give her a few pointers.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” you grumble as you bring your hand forward to rub your thumb with your index, scratching away more of the dust. 

“I didn’t get to say thank you. Again. That party was amazing. It was perfect, kid.” 

“Steve, we’re the same age,” you gripe at his pet name. 

“Yeah, but you hate it so much,” he teases. 

You can’t smile. Even as your cheeks pinch, you can only grimace. You drop your arm and close your eyes as you push your head back. 

“She loved it. I did too. We’re so happy and you made that happen--” 

“Steve, why are you calling? I’m buried right now,” you huff. 

“You are? I thought you’re supposed to dig stuff up--” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Well, you missed Opening Day so I thought maybe you’d wanna come watch the game. Sam’s doing his famous nachos and Bucky is... coming.” 

You hear the very man mutter in the background. Great, you even have an audience. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had you on speaker. Why would anything between you ever be intimate? 

“Tonight?” You wonder, “you sure you’re available?” 

“Me, I should be asking you,” he scoffs, “come on, how long’s it been since we’ve been apart a whole week?” 

“Work...” 

“Can you dig in the dark?” He challenges. 

“Steve,” you sniff, “I’m tired...” you feel your heart sinking. You feel bad. You never say no to Steve. It’s not easy. You tried but he’s right. You can’t remember the last time you didn’t see him at least every other day. “Fine, twist my arm.” 

“Good,” he chirps victoriously. “I wasn’t looking forward to driving up there and digging you out. So, seven?” 

“Seven, right,” you agree. “See ya then.” 

“Don’t make me come find ya, kid.” 

You hang up and cringe. You don’t even like baseball. It was just another personality trait you took on hoping to be close to Steve, hoping he might realise you’re destined to be together. Well, that’s not true. You’re just stupid. It took you too long to grow out of being that stupid college girl fawning over the blond hunk in his coed sweater. 

Still stupid, still alone. 

💟

You never show up empty-handed. Even when you were a poor sophomore. So it is that you delay the inevitable by stopping at your favourite local bakery. They’re closing and you get the eclairs for a discount as they’ll be on the day-old shelf in the morning.  

The owner, Marigold, knows you and puts in an extra one. You leave a tip as you listen eagerly to her rambling story about her granddaughter’s first soccer practice. Usually, you would be checking the time but today, you got more than enough. Finally, she sends you off as she turns off the sign. 

Fine, you’ll go. 

You find a visitor’s spot behind Steve’s building and linger in the car. You eat the extra eclair to keep from crying. Sugar is good for clogging up your tear ducts. You wipe your mouth and make yourself get out of the car. 

As you wait in the lobby for the buzzer to pick up, your insides squirm. You’re not ready for this. You’re not ready to face the truth you’ve been running from. The one you know you can’t deny any longer. 

“Hey kid,” Steve unlocks the door without awaiting a response. It’s typical; you have your patterns. Those little rituals are all going to end. 

You go through to the elevators and contemplate taking the stairs as you wait. The doors open and you step on, facing your reflection in the mirror doors. Your pants are still filthy from working in the dirt, your shirt is stained with your sweat, but at least you remembered to change your shoes. The elevator dings and you nearly let the doors close again before you can find your strength. 

You walk down the hallway and knock. You can hear their voices through the door. Steve opens it from within and gives you a strange look. 

“What’re you knocking for? You know you can come right in.” 

“Yeah, sorry, tired, long day,” you babble out the lazy excuses. “Here.” 

“Oh, nice,” he takes the box of eclairs, “you weren’t lying. You look exhausted.” 

“Ah, you really know how to talk up a woman,” Sam interjects as he appears in the doorway further down the entryway, “it’s a wonder Peggy said yes.” 

“Shut up,” Steve throws back as he turns to head back to the kitchen. 

You take your time in pulling off your shoes and sense Sam lingering, watching as you meander. You clear your throat as you stand and head down the hall. He nudges you as you step into the doorway next to him. 

“Where ya been?” He asks, “these jackasses have been driving me nuts.” 

“Work,” you repeat again, “lots going on.” 

“Right, yeah, now that you’re not spending all your time planning someone else’s girlfriend’s birthday.” 

You give him a sharp look and he shows his palms. You shake your head. He’s right. You wasted all that time. You’ve wasted years. All for nothing. 

“Fiancee, now, I guess,” he adds. 

“Yeah, the happy couple,” you snip and step into the room, “so we watching the game or are we giving him another pat on the back.” 

“What? You’re not excited? You’ll get to be a bridesmaid or whatever. Since I’m best man, I’ll be sure to save you a dance,” Sam chuckles. 

“You? Best man?” Bucky sneers from the couch where he slouches and flicks through a motorcycle magazine, “don’t think so, bud.” 

“Oh, you don’t think I’m better than you?” Sam challenges. “Let’s race for it.” 

“You cheat,” Bucky growls. 

“No, I have strategy,” Sam counters. 

You roll your eyes. Wedding talk, already. The exact thing you can’t handle right now.  Bucky sits up to glare at Sam as he closes the glossy pages. You let them argue and posture at each other. 

You leave the room and let yourself onto the balcony. The fresh air is chilling. You shiver as you step up to the railing and look across the city. You take in the skyline, each window, each peak, each speck of a car on the streets below. It feels so grey. Like it’s the last time you’ll be standing here looking over it all. 

Maybe it is. 

💟

You sip from the bottle of beer as Sam nearly drops his nachos off his lap in excitement. He hollers at the screen as Bucky gives him a look. Steve shakes a fist at the second base run. You’re happy enough to tamp down the heat of the peppers with the wheaty ale.  

Sam rights himself beside you as Steve reaches forward to set down his plate. He grabs the square of paper towel folded on the coffee table and wipes his lips. He sits back and slings his elbow over the armrest as the next batter takes his place. 

“So, how do you guys feel about a destination wedding?” Steve asks. 

You clamp your lips tight and scoop up more fixings with a chip. Sam swallows loudly as Bucky shrugs. No one says a word. 

“Peggy asked earlier. I wanted to do it at a cathedral here. Just how I always pictured it,” Steve says. 

Yeah, that sounds like him. He likes old-fashioned and elegant. Everything Peggy is and you’re not. Makes you wonder why she wouldn’t want the same venue. 

“Back home?” Sam wonders. 

“England? No. I suggested that and she was not into it.” 

“Somewhere tropical?” Sam prompts again. He’s at least trying. You’re too sick to open your mouth. 

“Sure, that’s what I was hoping,” he smiles, “especially if it’s a winter wedding. The date... yeah, that’s a big deal too. You know, I thought the ring was a pain.” 

You keep your head down, hoping the pain doesn’t show. Not only did he propose to her, he kept it from you. You’re best friends and you had no idea. How much had you been through with him? He had you plan that whole party but he couldn’t tell you that?  

No, no, you’re being dramatic. You’re friends. He doesn’t owe you that. It’s between him and Peggy. His future... wife. Ugh. You can’t even imagine that happening. You try and try but you just can’t stomach the image. Peggy in white, Steve in his tux, and you just standing, watching. 

“I can’t come,” you blurt out abruptly. 

“Huh?” Steve blinks and flinches as if he’s been slapped. 

Sam angles beside you to squint at you and Bucky’s brows pop up. Another silence, this one deadly. You’re suffocating as you search for words. 

“I won’t be here.” 

“Well, yeah, like I said, it’s gonna be somewhere else. You don’t even know when it is,” Steve blusters as his face creases in disappointment. 

“I’m going to Norway,” you blather and nearly choke at the realisation of what you said. 

“Norway?” Sam repeats hollowly. 

“Yeah, uh, work... offered me a grant contract and I’ll be going to Norway. For at least a year. So... yeah.” 

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Steve blinks rapidly, “how-- when were you going to tell me?” 

“I’m telling you now,” you push your shoulders up, “I just found out.” 

“You can’t...” Steve begins. 

“That’s awesome,” Sam speaks over him, “hey,” he nudges you, “that is so fucking cool. Norway. Vikings and shit.” 

Bucky nods and gives a thoughtful look, “rains a lot.” 

“So I’ve heard,” you utter dumbly, not sure how to respond. “I got a lot to do before then so I might be a bit absent.” 

“Don’t even worry about us,” Sam insists, “you need any help at all...” 

Steve stands up suddenly and slams his bottle down. Before you can speak, he twists on his heels and storms across the apartment. You stare after him as he disappears into the next room and you hear the balcony door slide back then snap shut just as quickly.  

You grip the beer bottle tight and look down. You didn’t think he’d be mad. You’ll be out of the way. He can get married and be happy. 

“What a baby,” Bucky grumbles, “can’t be happy for anyone but himself.” 

“Well, you are his best pal,” Sam snipes, “birds of a feather.” 

“So that means I’m best man,” Bucky intones mischievously. 

“No, it’s not best buddy, it’s best man--” 

They continue their banter and you get up. You put down your chips and beer and leave without notice from the bickering couple. You near the balcony and look through to Steve as he leans on the rail, his head down. Gently, you slide the door open and step out. 

Only the wind blows as you come closer to the railing. He roils in the cool evening air. You take a breath as you come up next to him. 

“Sorry, it’s... a good opportunity.” 

“No...” he drones, “I’m happy for you. I just... I can’t imagine my wedding without you. Or my life.” He lifts his head to look at you. “What am I going to do? You’re supposed to tell me what bowtie to wear and how to do my hair.” 

“Peggy can do all that,” you cross your arms, “Steve, I can’t pass this up. If I stay in the city...” you let your voice trail off into the wind. If you stay, you’ll have to watch his happily ever after while yours never comes. “I’ll never do anything.” 

“I know,” he dips his head again, “I’m proud of you. Really. But I’m going to miss you.” 

Your cheeks tauten and your throat clenches. Your voice is creaky as you speak, “I’ll miss you too.”  

He’ll miss you but he’ll never love you like you do him. 

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

dewdrops deserted in the carnage 

the wistful wyvern, chapter four

a/n: we're mostly getting angsty in this chapter, buuuuut also just a little bit slutty at the end. just a little sprinkling of spice.

summary: “please, stop,” you said firmly, your glare briefly averting, “look, trust me when I say, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice. But unfortunately, you’re the only one with the information that we need.”

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, forced proximity, violence, weapons, the death of a horse, crying, only one bed, jealousy

word count: 3398

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

info about the world | maps | pinterest board | playlist

masterlist | join my taglist

“I mean, I knew that your dad was a crook, but One-eyed Ollie? That’s your father?” 

Letting a heavy sigh seep from your lungs, “unfortunately,” you didn’t bother throwing a glance over at the warden riding beside you.

“How did I not know this?” 

“Only the most important people know,” you shrugged, as the king had kept up his promise to keep your past secret. 

“Oh, geez, thanks, snow,” Bucky huffed, taking your comment to heart, “glad for the assurance of where we fucking stand.” 

Twisting your neck, you glanced over at him as his stare was now firm on the road you travelled down, “…fine,” you exhaled, “what do you wanna know?”

Meeting your gaze, his curiosity then began to overflow, “what’s he like? What was your childhood like? Did you know him well?”

“Uh, well,” an awkward chuckle briefly billowed out of you, “let’s just say, he wouldn’t win any awards for his parenting skills. His idea of bonding with his kid wasn’t to teach me how to fish or farm. He taught me how to lie and steal from innocent people. To be honest, I don’t even know if he ever really saw me as a child, more just a tiny impressionable human being that he could mould into the perfect addition to his team…” 

Staring over at you, he asked, “were you there back then?”

“No, that was a little before my time,” you cocked your head as you frame rocked with each of Zenna’s steps, “if I’d already been a part of the only successful attempt there’d been in all the history of Obelón at breaking into the vault in Ingorn’s palace, then I wouldn’t need to go seek help from my father after swearing I’d never even acknowledge his existence again for the remainder of my days.”

Pursing his lips, his gaze then flicked away from you as he uttered slowly, “…so, have you ever stolen anything from me?”

Rolling your eyes, you sighed loudly through the amused smile that somehow bloomed on your lips, “Buck–”

“Have you?” 

“No!” you exclaimed, “of course not.” 

“Really?” he tilted his head before turning his attention back towards the road, “your fingers never had a moment where they itched too much to resist–,” and as he spoke, you begrudgingly fulfilled his request and swept out your grasp, snatching up the coin purse at his belt right as his body’s swaying gave you an opportunity. Though as soon as you’d swiped it, completely unbeknownst to him, you threw it back in his face and the pouch struck his bearded jaw, “ow!” before it tumbled down into his grasp. 

As his eyes lifted from the purse up to shoot a glare in your direction, you just huffed, “there. You happy? I stole something from you. Now can we please just–” 

But the rest of your banter got cut short as a rumbling abruptly shook the earth beneath you. Both of the horses reacted, getting a bit spooked at their sudden unstable footing. 

Without any further warning, the dirt before you split open as a huge ankheg burrowed its way out. 

Skittering forth with its many legs, the insectoid creature ferociously jumped your horse, causing her to tumble over as the monster snapped its large mandibles at her. Tumbling to the grass, all the air got knocked out of your lungs from the impact. 

Coughing and reeling from the fall, you swiftly unsheathed a couple of daggers and tossed them just as Bucky too sent a few bolts flying as well, both of them sinking into the monster at the same time. 

Unfortunately, the ankheg hadn’t been alone as a few more then crawled out of the hole and attacked you both. 

One skurried on top of you as you were still dazed on the ground. Its long branch-like antennas swayed above its head as it screeched a clicking call over you.

The bulbous sack that protruded right on its throat throbbed as green acidic saliva began to drip out of its mouth and down its mandibles, scarcely missing your head as it sizzled against the grass.

Fiddling for a blade, you sucked in a shaky breath when you discovered there weren’t any left on your person. 

As it pinned you down and you used all of your might to keep it at bay, your glance first fluttered to your partner for help, only to discover that he too was in over his head. Your frantic eyes then flickered around, searching for anything you might be able to defend yourself with. 

And just above your head, there lied a solid rock. 

Bending your legs, you pressed your boots up against the ankheg’s hard scales, using everything you had as you slipped your right hand out and stretched it to the stone. Only your fingertips grazed it at first as it wasn’t quite in your reach. Straining till a scream forced its way out of your lungs, your grip then finally succeeded and wrapped around the rock. 

It stunned the creature slightly when you knocked the stone against its head, enough to grant you the upper hand and slip out from under it. 

You didn’t know how many times you repeatedly brought the rock down upon the monster as you lost yourself completely till you were kneeling above its smashed remains, heaving for breath, with its dark green viscera splashed across you and dripping from the stone still glued in your grasp.

The grunt of Bucky dealing the killing blow to the one he was battling didn’t manage to snap you out of your trance. But when the dying sounds of your horse cut through the blinding adrenaline within you and found your ears, in an instant the rock tumbled from your grasp.

Twisting around, tears swiftly blurred up the image of Zenna suffering on the ground, her brown-speckled stomach split open and blistering as her innards spilt out of her. 

“No, no, no–,” you shakily scrambled to your feet, but already knew there wasn’t anything you could do. 

The only thing you could do for her now was end her pain. 

Bending down, you pulled one of your daggers out of her killer’s corpse, still lying right beside her. 

Your hands were shaking so hard that you nearly dropped the blade. Every muscle in your body locked up as you tried to kneel down beside Zenna. 

Then, as tears streamed down your cheeks and dropped to the blood-stained grass below, a hand suddenly appeared and slipped the weapon out of your hand. 

Blinking up into Bucky’s blue eyes, he quietly uttered, “I’ll do it,” as he tightened his fist around the hilt of the short blade. 

As he sank down onto his knees, you turned around and shut your eyes. 

When her suffering sounds were no more and the road grew quiet, an onslaught of tears violently burst out of you. 

Rising to his feet, Bucky wrapped his arms around you before you tumbled over. Twisting slightly, you curled into him, welcoming his hug as your sobs melted against his armoured chest.

“You ready?” Bucky asked softly in your ear as he sat behind you on his ebony mount. 

Staring up at the intimidating dark stone fortress of Yoslor Penitentiary, you let out a low breath, “no.” 

Sometime in the decade since you’d been imprisoned here, your father had finally been caught. For what exactly you weren’t sure of, but the night that the king had pulled you aside to discreetly inform you, was the first one you’d soundly slept through, perhaps ever. 

Even though the last very thing you desired was to lay eyes on your dad once more, you still slipped off of the stallion but a moment after Bucky did. 

You were both let in without much fuss after stating your stature and your business. Guards led you through the prison, passed some of the cells, and escorted you to a chamber, not unlike the one you’d been in when you had talked to the king and your whole life had changed.

After you’d both taken a seat at the central table, not much time passed before, like a haunting nightmare, the voice of your father began to rumble on the other side of the closed door.

“Oh come on, gents. You can tell me who my visitor is,” your eyes fluttered shut a moment at the familiar sound, “or do you want me to guess?”

Blowing out a slow and agonising exhale, you gathered yourself right before the door burst open and in tumble your father. 

Though he was a bit slimmer now, had lost more of his hair, as well as the new accessory of heavy chains that restricted his movements, he still looked exactly the same. 

“Well, well, well…” a bright grin split apart his lips, flashing you a few of his golden teeth, as the guards tossed him down into the opposing chair and secured his chains, “my baby dewdrop,” he stared at you with the eye not scared over and covered by a leather patch, “I heard you got out.”

“Hello, Olliander,” you greeted coldly, keeping your spine straight. 

“Oh, come on, no need to be so rigid,” the chains jangled loudly and he gestured with his hands, “get over here and give your pa a big hug.” 

“Please, stop,” you said firmly, your glare briefly averting, “look, trust me when I say, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice. But unfortunately, you’re the only one with the information that we need.”

“And what would I get out of this little arrangement?” 

Staring back at him, you swore you felt steam begin to billow out of your ears, “you would get to help your daughter, finally do something reminiscent of good, after running and making me take the fall when I’d thought you’d only set me up to be the decoy.”

“Look, dewdrop, it was a different time back then, the authorities were hot of our trail!” he tried to diminish your statement, “someone had to go down in order to save the rest of us.”

“So, you thought it should be your own kid?” you seethed, leaning forward in your seat ever so slightly. 

“…well, you’re tough, I knew you’d be able to handle it,” he tilted his head, “and just look at you now! If I hadn’t made that decision, then you’d never have this fancy new life of yours.” 

“Don’t you dare,” the little restraint you tried to keep a hold of snapped, “don’t you fucking dare take any of the credit. You didn’t do a single thing, my entire life, you never did anything that didn’t benefit you,” your pointer finger extended accusatorially, “so, I’m not asking you, I am telling you, you will give us the information we need, or else I’ll make sure your life here gets a hell of a lot more miserable than it already is.” 

The room fell quiet, not even Bucky dared to move before your father eventually let out a heavy sigh, “…what do you wanna know?”

“The vault in Ingorn’s palace, the one made out of hellstone,” your fingers dug into your thigh beneath the table as you spoke, “how did you do it?”

The one-eyed criminal then began to laugh, “seriously? You wanna break into that? I mean, you’re good, dewdrop, almost as good as me, but come on, with how rusty you must be these days, that is just insane–”

“Just tell us how you did it,” you barked. 

“Alright, fine,” he exhaled and rested a restrained arm against the edge of the table, “well, first of all, the lock on it is a thing of beauty, you can’t just tickle her open like a lady with a few lockpicks…” 

“You know, when you said that you knew a place in Erasild where we could stash our stuff, this isn’t what I imagined,” you stared up at the building before you, before shooting a glare in Bucky’s direction, “a brothel? Seriously? We don’t have time to pause everything just so that you can get laid.”

“Hey, this is business, not pleasure,” he stated, then playfully added before heading inside, “but if you wanna get that stick out of your ass, I’m sure some of them would like to help.”

As you entered behind him, the warmth radiating from the establishment swiftly thawed the evening chill that had settled in your bones. Navigating through the clusters of small tables, gently lit by candlelight, a trio of bards in the corner caught your ear as they strummed out a smooth ditty as a part of the sensual ambience. 

A voluptuous woman then sauntered out of a backroom with a casket of clinking wine bottles in her grasp. As she sat it down on the bar with a loud thud and her gaze then flickered up to spot your travelling companion, her face lit up into a bright smile. 

“Ah! Darling!” she immediately walked up to him and threw her arms around him. Pressing her lips to his cheek in a loud peck, she then pulled him back at arm’s length to get a good look at him, “what has it been, like three years? I was starting to think you’d died on me.”

“It's good to see you too, Helen,” a warm chuckle rumbled out of Bucky, before he then twisted back towards you, “let me introduce you,” he held out an open hand in your direction, “this is Warden Y/l/n,” you bowed your head softly as she found your eye, “snow, this is Helen Raye, owner and proprietor of The Sapphire Chateau.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam,” you offered her a tight-lipped smile. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” she purred, letting her gaze study you a second before her plump lips parted once more, “so, will you be wanting to share your entertainment tonight, or do you want someone all for yourself? There is this girl that came to me a few years back that I know you’d just love,” your eyes couldn’t help but grow wide as Helen battered her eyelashes up at Bucky, “she can’t just bend herself into a pretzel, but every other shape imaginable.” 

“Uh, some other time, Hel,” he declined with a polite smile, “we’re not really here for that.”

“Oh,” she breathed, though still smirked back at Bucky like she was about to ravage him. 

“We just need a place to set off a few things, let Echo stay, just for a little bit while we go pay Ingorn a visit.” 

“Ah, you must be going to that fancy ball they’re throwing! I’ve no idea what the occasion is, but business has been booming the past few weeks as all sorts of lords and ladies have passed through on their way down to the capital.”

Sharing a glance with you at the new information, Bucky then fibbed, “uh, yeah, we–… we are.” 

Twisting her frame, Helen then waved down a lanky boy behind the bar and said, “I’ll have Jeremy take care of your horse,” you watched as the lad zoomed out to do his duty, “and if you want somewhere secure to store your items, you’re welcome to use the little safe in my room.” 

“Thank you,” you uttered. 

“Do you have any rooms available?” Bucky asked as Helen manoeuvred around the bar, “a hot bath would be nice before we head out again.” 

“Uh,” her vision fluttered down behind the counter where a few keys hung from small hooks, “I have one room unoccupied,” she held up a dangling key, hooked on her curved finger, “it’s yours if you want it.”

And before you could protest about how this didn’t line up with the limited time you had to work with, Bucky had already snatched up the key, “thanks.”

“Room eight,” her teeth lightly caught her bottom lip, “your favourite, if I recall correctly.” 

If his back hadn’t been turned to you, the flush that then crept up on Bucky’s features would have been noticeable to your eyes even in this low light, “it–, uh, yeah, thanks,” he then cleared his throat, “the soap and such still in the same spot?”

“It is.”

“Great,” he exhaled, then turned to you, “I’m gonna head up first, get cleaned up,” his feet already began to carry him towards the staircase in the corner, “you mind ordering us some food? I’m starving for a proper meal.” 

“Uh, sure,” you uttered, still a bit stunned as you now found yourself without a buffer, “so, what kind of food do you serve in this establishment?”

“Let me get you a menu, love,” Helen headed into the back for a moment, only to return with more than just a pamphlet of culinary options. As the list slid over the bar towards you, her palm also insistently pushed a small glass vial containing some dried herbs in your direction. 

“What–,” heat began to rise in your cheeks as you read the small label. It was athrire, the herb commonly brewed into a tea and utilised as birth control, “oh, no, thanks, but I don’t need this.”

“You’ve been on the road for a while, and from how I know that man, you’ve probably run out by now,” she winked and pushed it right back to you as you tried to return it. 

“No, it’s really not like that, we’re not–”

“Darling,” her hand enclosed momentarily around yours, “just take it.”

When you’d found the room, Bucky was so fresh out of his bath that you nearly caught a glimpse of something as he buttoned up a fresh pair of pants. Droplets still trailed down his inked physique as he turned at the sound of your entrance. 

If his painstakingly slow work at covering his drool-worthy body up again hadn’t been enough to make you more flustered than a bashful bunny, the discovery that the room only had one bed sure did the trick.

It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still managed to. 

And when you stated that you’d just sleep on the floor and let him have the plush mattress all to himself, Bucky argued teasingly that you’d slept under the stars together countless times before. 

But that had been different, oh so very different and he knew it.

As he disappeared to get your food, you grabbed a quick bath. The view of the night sky from out of the balcony doors relaxed and distracted you long enough that you had to scramble at the last moment when Bucky returned, knocking on the door before you shrieked for him to stay on the other side just a moment longer as you rushed out of the tub. 

After the warm meal was scarfed down and a dozen yawns had escaped your lungs, you found yourself in a place you never thought you’d actually get to be. 

In bed next to Bucky. 

You were afraid to move. Just laid there like a statue, your stare darting from the constellations clear out the tall window, to the small Zondür alter in the corner of the chamber. 

But eventually, you heard your hushed tone fill the room, “so, Helen…”

“Hm?” Bucky hummed from his side of the bed, “what about her?”

“She seems nice,” your gaze bore a hole into the ceiling. 

Hearing him shift beside you, he said, “well, she is.” 

Feeling his gaze upon your silhouette, you didn’t dare to twist and meet his eye, “…so, how many of the other people that work here do you think are nice?”

A short chuckle then bubbled out of him, “snow…” before he teased, “what are you trying to get a personal recommendation or something?”

Your mouth then flew open as you shot him a glare, “no, I just–,” letting out a loud groan, “forget I said anything,” and you frantically turned your back to him, “go to sleep.” 

“Helen is very good at what she does,” he casually informed you through his amused smirk, “she hires people who are very good at their job, people who are very nice. You’d be in good hands with any of them.”

“I-I wasn’t trying to–,” you stammered, nearly twisting around to bash his mass in the moonlight, “just shut up, please!” but he just laughed. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[sxcret-garden]

ღ NCT Dream Jisung x fem-bodied!reader ღ words: ~800 ღ gerne: soft smut (just v soft love making, some body worship, mention of multiple orgasms, unprotected sex) ღ reader: has a vagina and breasts, no pronouns used to refer to reader ღ warnings: none ღ prompt: “Louder. Let me hear you.”

Heavy pants and quiet moans fill the room as you throw your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulders, nails digging into his bare back. He groans at the feeling, but goes right back to planting lingering kisses all over your neck. His plump lips feel hot against your skin, just like the way he holds you as he rolls his hips on top of you. 

“Jisungie…” you mutter his name and you comb your fingers through his disheveled hair. You’ve been making out practically all afternoon, and it really was only a matter of time until you two started touching each other, and when you did, you were both all out of patience. Led by the need to feel the other, clothes were off in no time, and after getting each other off a couple of times, this is the position you ended up in. Missionary, you lying underneath him and him setting the pace, his hands still all over you. He just can’t help himself, and you wouldn’t want him to stop for anything in the world.

“Love you…” he mutters after placing a kiss just below your earlobe, before he comes up to take a proper look at your face. He tends to get shy when you kiss him, but right now there’s not a single trace of embarrassment reflecting on his face. You can feel his sincerity, and at the same time the gaze with which he looks at you is intense. 

“I love you too,” you whisper in response, and you lean your head back when he travels down towards your chest, to continue kissing you there. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says in between mapping out the area from your collarbones to your breasts, and you shudder when he sits up to run his palms down your body. Big hands reaching for your thighs to help you wrap your legs around his hips, he’s right back to touching you everywhere and you hum at his ministrations. Your heart swells at the way he handles you with so much care, and yet you can feel the burning desire behind his unhurried movements - he knows he has all the time in the world to spend with you like this, so why would he rush?

“Baby,” you call out to him, resulting in him leaning in again to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Hm?” he hums, and you whine as you can feel his warmth on top of you again, snaking your hands around his torso and holding on to him tight. The gesture makes him chuckle, and Jisung brings a hand up to your face, thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you,” he repeats, before capturing your lips in a deep kiss, and you let him set the pace. Again, he goes slow, and somehow the way he’s savouring every single moment with you like this makes you only want more. 

“I know something better,” he says after he parts from you, reaching for your hands behind his back, and before you realize what he’s planning, he already has his fingers intertwined with yours, pinning you down on the bed underneath him. “Is that okay?” he asks, and you find yourself nodding, and as if that was his starting signal, he begins rolling his hips against yours once more. His thrusts are slow and strong, so intense that your head is spinning in no time and you feel the pleasure flooding your senses.

“J-jisung…” you mewl his name quietly, brows furrowed as the sensations overwhelm you.

“Louder,” he responds, making you gasp with each of his thrusts. “Let me hear you.” Unable to even consider doing anything else, your lips part, making way for the moans you’ve been trying to hold in. And now that he’s responding to each sound escaping you with a moan of his own, you’d have wondered why you held back to begin with, if it wasn’t for the fact that the way he’s making love to you leaves you unable to form even one coherent thought. And so all you can do is whine his name as your next high builds up in the pits of your stomach, and then eventually he picks up the pace, telling you that he too is coming close.

“Baby… ‘m gonna cum…” you mewl, and he replies with a strained “me too”. A few more swift thrusts and he has you coming undone under his touch, with him following shortly after. Breathless, he rolls himself off you, his hand still in yours as you lie there, flat on your backs, neither of you two saying anything. Instead, you begin drawing circles onto the back of his hand with your thumb, and when you turn your head to look at him you find him already gazing at you fondly.

“I love you,” you whisper, and you both crack a smile. Then Jisung brings your hand up to his mouth to place a kiss to your knuckles, before he replies,

“Me too.”

[meiluu]

Sleepy

Leon S. Kennedy NSFW one-shot

Leon S. Kennedy / Reader(AFAB) cw: soft morning SMUT 18+ MDNI, re:2 leon, no RC event.

*not edited

Quietly closing the door behind him, Leon breathes a sigh of relief. It was another late night patrol with the R.P.D, even though Leon was exhausted he would never grow tired of his job. Since he was orphaned at a young age he dreamed about becoming someone who could protect those who couldn't protect themselves, and he was able to do that with his job. Although he had only joined the force a year ago he has made his impact not only that but has made many friends along the way. And that included you.

Leon was still within his first week when he met you, cliché enough you both had bumped into one another. Leon had stupidly not been paying attention and had spilt his morning coffee all over you. And thankfully you hadn't beaten him for ruining what looked like a beautiful sun-dress. But Leon just couldn't let you walk away without repaying you, so that's when he had offered to get lunch sometime and by a miracle you accepted. And from there a relationship blossomed. You had become a rock, a pillar of reliability and comfort, something Leon had never had within his life. And now a year later your relationship has bloomed into a beautiful garden.

Gently taking off his boots, setting them aside next to your shoes he makes his way into the living room as he lays down his bag along with his belt and the rest of his gear. Then he's making his way to your shared bedroom. Leon's heart swells at the sight of you bundled up in the thick comforter, face snuggled into his pillow. A soft smile painting his face, stealthily Leon showers and readies himself for bed- happy that he's off for tomorrow and can sleep in with you. Reaching the bed, he pulls up the comforter cuddling himself around you. A sleepy sound leaves your lips, "Leon?" voice thick with sleep you turn towards his chest. "Hi baby, go back to sleep." whispering to you as he pulls you closer to him, relishing in your warmth. A soft 'I love you' is mumbled into his chest before you fall back asleep, "I love you too." placing a kiss atop your head Leon buries himself in your scent and is soon pulled under into a dreamless sleep.

The morning rays of the sun stream into the bedroom, a groan leaves Leon at being awakened. Turning away from the window he snuggles himself further into your chest. But before he can fall back asleep your voice is ringing through his mind. "Good morning grumpy." Leon lets out a grunt at your teasing, a soft laugh bubbles up from your chest at his antics. Hoping to better his mood you begin to place kisses upon his face. Starting at his messy bed head you trail your way down his face, past his furrowed brows, placing a light kiss atop his nose as you continue downwards not so subtly avoiding his pink lips that are just begging to be kissed. Voice a bit husky with sleep calls out your name, "Don't tease- it's too early." With a cheeky smile you continue your teasing, now your kisses have past his sharp jawline and are now mapping out the delicate skin of his neck. A familiar sound of pleasure tumbles from Leon's lips and not a moment later are you rolled onto your back, hands pinned beside your head. Leon has a smug smile painted upon his face, "You should know better baby, if you're not careful we’ll be in bed all day." A mischievous smile tugs at your cheeks, raising a brow "would that be such a bad thing?" Leon's lovely laugh fills the air around you both, and you can't help the genuine smile that takes up your face. Leaning down Leon finally gets what he has been deprived of, the feel of your lips against his has him shutting his eyes in relief.

It starts off slow and measured, Leon removes his hands from your wrists as he begins to caress your curves as he travels down to the hem of your-his- shirt. his warm and slightly calloused hands mapping out every inch of you. Mouths locked in a dance, taking the lead you nip at his plump bottom lip, and Leon gives into your request allowing your tongues to meet one another. Your hands are quick to crawl up his bare shoulders rising to his blond locks, carding your fingers through the soft strands. Taking your dance further, Leon's moving his lips down to your neck placing open mouth kisses upon your skin- relishing in your natural scent that does nothing to curb his want for you. With his mouth littering kisses his hands are massaging the swells of your breasts, your whimpers of pleasure reaches Leon's ears. Reaching the collar of your- his-shirt he takes a moment to look up at you, giving you the opportunity to stop this if you didn't want to go further. And Leon is met with your lust filled gaze, "Please, Leon." and that's all it takes for Leon to quickly remove the offending fabric from you body, finally Leon can now continue where he left off.

Mouth marking your skin, creating a beautiful constellation of hickeys across your skin. Then he's pulling the hard bud of your right breast into his warm mouth. Tongue swirling around the bud, a moan is quick to fall from your lips as your fingers tug on Leon's hair, eliciting a groan from him, mind and body buzzing with pleasure. After he's satisfied in his worship of your right breast he is moving onto the other breast- not wanting to leave it out of his loving devotion to your body. Giving it the same treatment as the other, with every swirl and flick of his tongue sending jolts of arousal to your core- no doubt dampening your panties. Once he finishes Leon is soon to move downwards, mouth lighting a fiery trail of pleasure down your stomach- past your navel, only stopping at the hem of your panties. His fingers are quick to remove the fabric just as fast as the shirt- eyes blown wide in a mix of lust and adoration his gaze locks with yours. Once again silently asking if he can continue, "Leon if you don't fuck me- I'll do it myself." voice filled with lust and frustration. "Yes ma'am." who was he to deny you? Whenever you asked-begged or made so much as an inkling that you wanted something Leon was quick to fill that, the same way you did for him. He was so in love you, and he planned on making sure you remembered that- always, even with the late night patrols or having to reschedule plans with his job he always made every moment with you count and this was no exception.

Raising his head level with yours, he's taking one of his hands dragging it down to your center. Fingers meeting your arousal, a throaty groan leaves Leon at the feeling, you were so wet for him. Slipping two fingers into you easily, your warm walls are quick to clamp down upon him. Pushing in until his fingers were completely within you, does he then finally start his movements. Deep but measured thrusts of his fingers in and out of your cunt has your whimpering in ecstasy. Taking his other hand, bringing it down to your bundle of nerves, putting just the right amount of pressure and swirling your clit underneath his fore and middle finger. Your moans are a beautiful melody that he'll never grow tired of listening to. Your cunt is soon to grip his fingers in a vice like grip, as you near your impending climax. "Fuck- cum on my fingers, please baby." Leon's voice is a needy whimper filled with lust and its sending you off that cliff straight into your orgasm. As your mind blanks with your orgasm, you are soon brought back down to earth as Leon's cooing words of encouragement and love begin to register within your mind.

"So good, that's it baby." Gently removing his fingers from your cunt he is bringing his wet digits up to mouth, letting himself taste the unmistakable flavor that is you. Leon is quick to remove his clothing- luckily it was only one piece of fabric, throwing his underwear to the side his cock now free. A sigh of relief falls from his pink lips, cock hard and aching to be within you. Precum has already smeared the tip of him no doubt leaving a wet patch upon his clothing- but Leon couldn't care less about that right now. Bringing his length to your core, taking a moment to grind his length into your arousal, wetting his cock. Though he is quick to push himself into you, taking steady breaths so that his doesn't cum too quickly. He lets his cock sink into you until he is flushed against you. Fuck, he will never get tired of this feeling- your inviting cunt hugging him, warm and wet just for him and only him.

Pulling his hips back, feeling his cock drag against your walls, stopping only when his tip is left within you does he then sink back into you. Deep and rhythmic thrusts, not slow but not fast either. Your arms are wrapping around his neck while your legs cage in his hips, encouraging him to go deeper- to go harder. A soft cry of his name has Leon's eyes leaving where they were watching himself disappear within you up to your eyes. Obeying your silent begging, Leon quickly brings his hands down your thighs raising your left thigh to rest against his chest- allowing him to reach deeper within you. His other hand gripping hard onto your right side, giving him the perfect leverage to fuck you into the bed. In and out, his harsh and deep thrusts has your head falling back into the pillow as your back arches up into Leon's chest. His mind-numbing sounds of pleasure has your cunt clenching down hard upon him- trying to keep him within you, never wanting him to leave. Taking his eyes away from the hypnotizing sight of your cunt taking all of him to the hilt every time he thrusts, rising to your face again he nearly cums at the sight before him. Your face is etched in pleasure, mouth open allowing for your sweet sounds to fall from your lips. And then you are throwing Leon right to the edge as you bring one of your hands down to swirl your clit as you near an earthshattering high. A curse accompanied with your name is cried out, as Leon feels your cunt rhythmically begin to quiver and squeeze around his cock. Leon's grip upon you tightens, undoubtedly leaving bruises for you to find later as he feels white hot pleasure roll down his back as his body tightens before he feels himself cuming within you. Pushing as far into you as possible grinding his length as he paints your inner walls with his cum.

Slowly his grinding comes to a stop as you both finish riding out your highs, he is gently setting your thigh down against the sheets. And just as Leon goes to remove his now softening cock to clean you both up- you are quick to latch onto him. "Stay- just a bit longer, please."

"Of course." leaving himself within you, his arms wrap around your torso. There he settles himself atop of you, placing feather-light kisses against your neck. "I love you." your lips are placing a kiss upon his temple, "I love you too Leon."

[peachpitfics]

Delicate

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Colin Bridgerton has finally admitted his feelings, to himself and to his future wife, Penelope Featherington. After a wild ride in the carriage on the way home from the Ball, Colin invites his love inside.

Length: 2.8k

Pairing: Penelope Featherington x Colin Bridgerton

Content Warnings: unprotected sex, penetrative sex, sneaking around.

Bridgerton master list

The carriage door swung open - her heart sunk lower than she thought possible. Was he going to leave her here in this carriage? After what had just happened between them? Penelope’s lashes fluttered anxiously as she watched Colin Bridgerton turn, outstretching his hand to her. Astonishment washed over her. She had contemplated pinching her own arm to ensure this was not a dream.

“Are you coming with me?”

“What?” She paused, “Your - - Your family will see me” Penelope stuttered briefly, looking up at the Bridgerton house. Nervous energy filled her belly, Colin’s smile slight with the sweetest upturn of his right dimple, he leaned in.

“For God’s sake, Penelope Featherington. Are you going to marry me or not?”. Colin’s words rolled smoothly over his lips, cocky and filled with certainty, as he watched her breath quicken.

There wasn’t a second thought had for either of them, her hand was thrust into his and he was pulling her from the carriage in teenage excitement. The coachman atop the carriage gave an unsurprised smile to his footman, whistling to the horses to carry on. Colin bustled down the path, right up to the door, his fingers intertwined with Penelope’s; finally, he had found what was missing. That little piece of himself he’d spent months searching for all over the world, had been sitting across the square, nose in a book at the sitting room window. Too often had he forced Penelope out of his mind, but not tonight and no longer would he dare try.

“Wait,” Penelope pulled his hand back in hesitation while he was reaching for the handle, “What if someone stops us?” She asked gingerly. Colin grinned wide, “No one, not even my mother, is going to stop me from getting you up those stairs and into bed” Colin’s hand found its way into her red curls, pulling her into his lips, kissing her once, deep, and long. Each time, Penelope felt as if he was stealing the very air in her lungs. She was dizzy with passion and drunk on her love for him. Colins hand pushed the doors open, the house was lowly lit for the evening. Not every Bridgerton child had made it home yet from this evening’s ball.

There was no noise about the house, and not yet a service person in sight. Colin closed the door gently behind them, and scurried up the stairs, Penelope grasping her dress up to follow his pace. “Where is everyone?” Penelope asked as they reached the first landing. Colin had a pensive look about him, placing his pointer finger over her lips and then moving to tap his ears. Pen closed her eyes for a moment, and in the distance, heard the softest pianoforte tinkling. “Francesca” Colin whispered, “Mother will be about”. His hand closed around hers again and they were off and up the stairs yet again. On the fourth floor Colin stopped, allowing both to catch their breath. Colins door swung open, revealing a well-kept, neat bedroom. Penelope waited at the door, it was so dark, and she was feeling so uncertain. Colin lit candles around the room, unveiling maps and journals covering a desk in the corner. There was a globe, golden pins stuck into little black dots all over Europe. Penelope had wanted to travel herself; she was always envious of Colin’s adventures. She had wished they had shared them together - maybe they would in the future.

Colin shrugged his blazer from his shoulders and laid it gracefully over the chair.

“Are you going to come inside?” Colin asked softly.

“I’ve never been in your room…” Pen said pensively, looking down toward the hem of her dress. Colin could understand why she was feeling a little unsure.

“Penelope” Colin approached her slowly, removing his cufflinks as he walked, “I would be honoured and frankly, besotted, if you were to join me in here. I know that I have spent much of your time denying the way I feel, but I will not be any more” Colin admitted. Their hands tangled together in gentleness and calm, comfortable. Penelope took one step forward, what felt like the greatest of leaps, and Colin closed the door behind her.

They shuffled sweet, meandering steps deeper into the bedchamber, Colin pressing his warm lips to Pen’s forehead with each sway. Breath caught in her throat, Penelope closed her eyes in the serenity of the moment, remembering how many times she had fantasised over this scenario. Perhaps a thousand times before, since she could remember, visions of Colin Bridgerton’s lips crashing into hers plagued her mind. Now, they were swaying, dancing closer than they ever had at any ball. They each were taking note of every detail they had missed in their arrogance.

Colin admired the way Penelope’s back dipped into her luscious hips, her behind. His hands rode low, resting at the base of her spine, pulling her right to his broad chest. Penelope, faced now with peeks through Colin’s undershirt, the tassels hanging down to glide over the swell of her breast, tickling her skin. When had he grown such chest hair? She pondered, peering down his shirt in an unsubtle manner. Colin moved back from her, a potentially embarrassed smile gracing his face, he pulled his long sleeve off over his head.

“Is this what you wanted?” Colin began to turn on the spot, arms wide open as if on display. Penelope let out a little laugh, but she did not look away.

“You are incredible” She mumbled, almost turning away from him but not without him darting forward, hands on her bare shoulders to keep her faced toward him.

“Pen, if you would like to wait until we are married - I would understand” Colin said quickly, fretting Penelope had changed her mind, “We can simply talk, or sit together on the floor here. Nothing you’re not ready for needs to happen tonight” Colin assured her.

Penelope gave a demure smile, gliding her thumb across his cheek. There was a long pause before Penelope had pieced together what she had wanted to say.

“I never considered the possibility of you returning my affections, Colin. I did not expect to be here tonight, or at all, really. I have dreamt of this night nearly my whole life and I am afraid that you will be left dissatisfied and disappointed” Penelope admitted, head hung low and avoiding Colin’s eye.

Colins fingers danced over her chin, faintly at first, but when she wouldn’t look at him, he persuaded her chin higher to meet his eye. Crystal blue eyes, staring at Penelope with such a sureness she had never seen in him before. Every blink told a story, one of lust and passion and wanting but also of love. Penelope could feel this, it was real this time.

Their lips smashed together, a symphony of cymbals crashing together a the crescendo of an opera. Hands moved frantically back and forth over each body, everything new and explorative. Colin’s hands kneaded at her breasts through her dress, every gasp and moan she elicited started a new fire somewhere in his body until his whole world was on fire.

“Can I help you out of that dress?” Colin asked, his eyes never leaving hers. Penelope nodded slowly, turning around so that Colin may attempt to undo the corset entrapping her. It started softly, filled with longing touch and excited hurrying until –

“Damn” Colin laughed, pulling and pulling on the laces of this corset, unable to loosen what the ladies’ maids had done to secure Penelope on the most important night of her life, or so they had thought, with Lord Debling. Penelope covered her mouth as she giggled along with him, waiting for him to at least get a start in so that he would be less frustrated. But as time went on, Colin became more and more impatient, eventually witling him down enough that he stormed over to his writing desk and retrieved a pocket knife from his drawer.

“You do trust me?” He asked cheekily, he tongue playfully poking his inner cheek.

“Of course,” Penelope nodded. Colin slid the knife in one fell swoop, straight up Penelope’s back, cutting away the corset. “I would have ripped it, had it not been made of iron” Colin pulled Pen around, arms wrapping around her, laughing along with her throughout needy kisses. Her dress fell away and after a moment, she didn’t find herself caring as much as she did before.

Colins hands found their way up under her under clothes, his skin meeting hers for the very first time. He groaned with lasciviousness, “Your skin is like velvet, the softest thing I have ever felt in my life”. Colin ran his hands over every curvature of Penelope’s body, it was the beginning of his greatest adventure – mapping every valley, dip and crevice of his future wife’s body. Their eyes met again, Colin asking for permission again to remove another layer of clothing, this time, the final layer. Penelope’s chest constricted as she nodded, her breath trembling as the material inched slowly upside her body, his hands gliding over her hips, lifting her arms into the air finally.

Colin dropped the long undergarment to the ground, stepping back, mouth agape, stunned. Penelope felt compelled to cover herself, she had always felt that way, but she held strong and managed to keep her arms by her sides while Colin took in her naked body for the first time.

He shook his head, transfixed, entranced, entrapped, as if he was trying to break a spell. His eyes hovered over every inch. His hands reached out but did not touch. He remembered to swallow, only to stop himself from drooling onto the floor. And then he came to his knees in front of her, hands placed on her upper thighs. “You are heavenly” Colin managed to say. A light, abashed smile planted itself upon her face as she gazed down at him. He was simply undone by her.

Penelope held out her hands, watching Colin place kisses about her thighs and lower belly, eventually he took hold of them, and they moved toward his bed. Colin hovered over her, taking her breast in his hand, her nipples into his mouth, swirling his warm tongue around each of them. Penelope gasped underneath him, wondering if it could get any better than this. His hands coasted her body, massaging and pulling her into him, finding the best places to hold her. Fingers looming over the edge of her belly, Penelope felt the hottest burning from her lower stomach, the wanton need for more, every touch feeling electric between them.

“Please” Penelope whimpered, Colins hand gliding lower, slipping between her thighs and finding the warmth it was seeking. His light, well-placed fingers traced tiny circles over the most sensitive part of her body, compelling harmonious moans from her lips, seeming to drive Colin to absolute desperation. His pace quickened again and again, placing pressure down on just the right spot until he had her panting in his ear, begging for more.

“My God, I want you” Colin panted, exasperated, not letting up, “I want to sink into you, and never leave this room again”. Their lips collided in messy, wet kisses. Teeth nipping and pulling on each other’s lips, Penelope on the verge of teetering over the edge. She had never known such pleasure, and relished the idea that this was just the beginning of her experience with his talents. Whist thinking about all the things she was going to let Colin do to her body, a rush of ecstasy flooded her being, her legs convulsing and clenching tightly around his hand, trying desperately to make him stop moving. She writhed underneath him, trying to stifle her moans in his deep kisses. Penelope had never been bombarded with such a feeling as that, so much pleasure she could hardly open her eyes to come back to the real world. Colin smiled charmingly above her, brushing her red curls from her face, kissing her with fervour and moving between her legs.

Penelope looked up at Colin, his broad chest and strong arms made her knees weak on any given day where he was clothed. Butterflies surged into her stomach again, as she realised what they were about to do, together. It was an excitement she would never be able to gage on a scale.

His hands rubbed up and down her thighs, devilish desire deep set in his blue eyes as he positioned himself. Penelope held one hand to her face, where she feverishly chewed on her nail, the other holding onto Colin’s arm for support.

“I love you” She admitted aloud, looking up with intimate fondness.

“You’re my best friend. I love you” Colin whispered down to her. He placed himself at her entrance and began to move forward. “Oh, the wicked things I shall do to you”, He moaned, throwing his head back as he sunk into her for the very first time.

Penelope squealed with revelry, moans of pleasure quickly following as Colin began showing her what married life held in store for them. His movements were sure and strong, however reserved for his loves first time. In the few moments it took for Penelope to become accustomed to love making, she was enjoying it thoroughly, moving up onto her elbows, kissing Colin as he thrust into her.

“Oh Colin, please don’t stop” Pen moaned a little louder than she thought.

A frenzy began in Colins body, grasping her legs and thrusting them into the air with force, holding them up onto his shoulders and pushing himself further into her now.

Of all the sex he had had in the last couple of years, nothing compared to this. The way she felt around him, the sound of her voice, the softness of her skin and the comfort of her body. There was nothing as hedonistic as this. He took his future wife by her thighs and rolled her onto her front, grasping her voluptuous hips and reefing her back towards him, thrusting forward and burying himself deep inside her.

Her fingers grasped handfuls of bed linen, screaming out in delight as she found there was another way to accomplish this. This had been her favourite thus far. She loved the way his hands sunk into her flesh, how he held her and pulled at her with such a need. Colins thrust became faster, more uneven than before and she knew the same thing was about to happen to him. Penelope arched her back to meet him, kissing his chin as he pounded into her.

“Please” She moaned into the side of his cheek, begging him for his release was all it took for Colin Bridgerton to let go and fill Penelope. His hands remained tight on her waist, squeezing and pulling her back onto him repeatedly until he had finished. “That’s my good girl. My sweet Penelope” He hushed into her ear, kissing the side of her head before pulling back and laying down next to her.

They lay together in content silence for a few moments, processing what had happened tonight. Penelope let out a short giggle, meaning for it to stay in her head.

“Happy?” Colin asked, shuffling over closer to her side, resting his hand on her belly.

“Unbelievably so” Penelope whispered sweetly.

Until the early hours of the morning, they sat together, nestled against the bedhead of Colin’s bed, talking about it all. Reminiscing about all the signs Colin had missed along the way, and everything in between. Neither of them had ever felt such comfort in the presence of someone else. It was clear to them, that this was a love match and that they wanted to be married as soon as possible.

At five o’clock, Colin helped Pen dress as sensibly as she could have and arranged the carriage to discreetly drive her to her home. She would say she spent the night with Eloise or Francesca, repairing friendships or whatnot, if someone asked or noticed. But she was sure they would not. Colin escorted her quietly to the front door, gingerly making their way down the flights of stairs, hoping no one would be awake yet.

They stood at the front door, embracing, lips slowly and sleepily pulling at each other, relegated to pretending as soon as the door opened. But the door opened of its own volition and the pair flew apart like magnets of the same pole.

“Colin” Benedict stood, shoes nowhere to be found, cummerbund half undone, and his buttons mismatched on his shirt. He swayed wearily, and looked to Penelope, “Hi Penelope” He gave a little bow, and moved out of the way as she hurried down the cobblestone and into the carriage.

Benedict walked into the Bridgerton house without so much as a word. That was until halfway up the steps, he stopped short, turned on the spot and pointed at Colin with the most dumbfounded look upon his face.

“Penelope” He whispered, the cogs visibly turning in his eyes as Colin watched the puzzle pieces shifting into place. Benedict’s eyes widened with a sobering, dramatic flair and he began sprinting up the stairs, Colin bolting after him in a nervous flurry.

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

If you'd like to be tagged in any upcoming Bridgerton fanfiction, comment below and I'll add you to a taglist!

[teamatsumu]

kinktober 2023 -> day 6

oral - terushima yuuji x reader

word count: 961

kinktober masterlist

You had always been curious about Terushima Yuuji.

Your university’s local fuck boy. Bold, brazen, sometimes sleazy, and unbelievably confident in himself. He had been in your first ever uni class, and somehow you had managed to grab his attention. You couldn’t imagine why. You were as bland as they came. Quiet, distant, sometimes oblivious, often apathetic. You knew how you came off to people. Nothing special, nothing to write home about.

Yuuji seemed to think otherwise.

He was convinced you were hiding something from him. Some part of you that made you ‘interesting’. You would roll your eyes and brush him off, telling him he was delusional, and he needed to mind his own business, while trying to disguise the shiver that went down your spine as his narrowed eyes would run down your figure.

You were still a girl. A college girl at that. Young, hot-blooded, and of course, occasionally horny. So you weren’t immune to his charms. And boy, was he charming. No wonder you had found yourself giving into him, until you were here in his bed.

“I knew it,” his smirk was sharp and giddy, his eyes heated, trained over your shaking, writhing figure, fingers still moving with precise strokes, running over your spongy walls in all the right spots that had you bucking against him, bare chest rising and falling. “I knew you were special. God, you should see yourself right now, baby. You look delicious.”

Your mouth dropped open and you whined, one hand fisting itself in his t-shirt as you tried to squirm away from his intense gaze. He wouldn’t stop looking you up and down, like you were his last meal. It made your body burn all over.

“I wonder,” he continued, mumbling more to himself now than you. “Wonder how far I can push you.”

You barely registered when his fingers left your body, blinking at the loss in sensation, but it didn’t take long before something else, something much softer and wetter- hotter- slid through your folds and found home inside your gummy walls.

You yelped at the feeling, legs instinctively closing around his head before he pried them apart and held them there with his hands, effectively pinning you in place. His tongue buried deeper inside you and- oh.

What the fuck was that?

It was hard and cold, colder than the rest of Yuuji’s tongue, and it made you tense up in his hold as it ran over your walls in twisting lines, tracing over the sensitive insides. It was so different to anything you had experienced before, you gasped and your hand shot down, gripping so tight at Yuuji’s hair you were surprised it didn’t tear out.

You could feel his lips curl into a smirk, head tilting enough that he could look at you with half-lidded, cunning eyes, a knowing look in them telling you that it was indeed what you thought it was. Yuuji’s infamous tongue piercing.

His efforts seemed to double then, eating you out with a vigor you had never seen before from any of your past lovers, eyes falling shut as he concentrated solely on mapping out every part of your pussy with his tongue. Your legs shook and his grip on them tightened, your nails now scratching at his scalp to try and ground yourself in some way. And when his tongue left your hole to travel up, the hard piercing dragging over your clit, you fell apart.

You shrieked as you came, back arching dangerously off the bed, pushing Yuuji’s face harder into your cunt as waves of pleasure coursed through your body like electricity. He didn’t stop for one second, tongue running dizzying circles over your clit, making your body jolt whenever the piercing would hit it, lips wrapping around the little nub and sucking hard until you cried, until liquid squirted from your pussy and coated the lower half off his face, making him groan into your core and hold your legs farther apart.

You felt dirty, having a man licking between your legs as you wet his face with your juices, his tongue running up and down your entire pussy, cleaning up anything still left behind. It turned you on to no end, having him ravish you like this, and as your body slowly unwound from your orgasm, you wished he would just stay down there forever, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm with his miraculous tongue.

When Yuuji finally resurfaced, he had a shit-eating grin on his face that would’ve made you roll your eyes if you had the energy for it. You did huff at him and give him a look that said ‘drop it’, but you weren’t surprised when he didn’t listen.

As he started boasting in detail about how you looked and acted around his tongue, you had half the mind to just put your clothes on and leave. But a better idea formed in your head as you listened to him ramble, and it brought a smirk to your face.

Yuuji abruptly stopped talking when you sat up and pushed him to lay down on the bed, eyeing you questioningly until you scooted up, legs planting on either side of his face. Then his eyes lit up in understanding, smirking as he brought his hands up to hold your hips and push you down on his face, getting back to business rather quickly. You sighed at the feeling.

He had no problem doing whatever you wanted the rest of the night.

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 1 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

[flowerbetweenfangs]

They call you the Stitch Witch. Because you form little bits of magic in every thread you use. Every loop, weave, and piercing of the needle sparks a bit more into what you're fixing.

It begins with a ghost. Only remembering the shroud marking them as dead, they come to you as a simple sheet. After some thought, you get hair donated and use it as your thread, embroidering patterns and attempting to pull memories from the ether. They become humanoid, but remember there are more, wandering and lost.

Always the same, sheets marking them as dead. They beg for your magic and memory retrieval. You explain to your village, and soon many are donating their hair to help in your endeavor.

Some only need a few stictches and are on their way into the afterlife. Some are nearly a new tapestry when you're done, and you've guided them through unfinished business.

The Guide brings more to you, but never asks for more so they can pass on. You entertain them as a good host should, offering them a polite cup of tea and offerings generally reserved for the dead. They seem happy and appreciate all you do, giving small things like messages and news from other parts of the world.

Sometimes families of the deceSed come by and offer their gratitude for helping identify their loved ones and putting them at rest. It's not much, but it's honest work.

Years pass, and you have a small gap in clientele for the first time in seasons. Your hair has started to go white, and calluses have long formed on your fingertips.

Others have picked up your craft, spreading awareness and assisting many around the region. Of course, you're still the one many go to. And your first client always brings in new customers.

But today was different. There was a stillness in the air, the air finally taking on autumn's chill, but a few shuddering breaths of summer remained.

The silence curled through the air like the steam rising from the tea cups. The Guide sat and stared at your latest project, a combined tapestry of nearly a dozen types of hair, forming a rich forest scene.

"Are you ready to move on?" The words were out before you realized.

They shook their head, hovering a few finger widths above you.

"I have unfinished business."

"Let's stitch some memories." You pull out a spoon of dark hair, curly and thick, and cup you hand under the edge of the shroud, pulling it toward you. While the edges are frayed, some having faded into the ether , you see a few white ones that seem fresh.

"And try to make sense of it all. Finally make a map of your unfinished business "

"I'm afraid I can't." Translucent hands form and take yours. Your skin tingles, like it's fallen asleep.

"why not?"

"Because I know what it is." Hands squeeze yours once, twice. Three times.

"There is one soul I want to make sure I guide to the other side. But they aren't wrapped in a shroud. Until then, I will remain. Creating memories and mapping out this life."

And freezing lips press toward yours, the cloth barrier making it rough, like the faintest hint of scruff on a chin. Lips form, but are like chiseled marble, too hard and unmoving. When they pulled away, threads moved across their shroud, twisting into braids and knots that just as quickly untied themselves.

"Who I was before doesn't matter." They assure you. "I feel like these threads pulled us together for a reason, and it would be a shame to damage this work of art by cutting them."

Your lips still tingled at the memory of their touch. Reaching up, you pluck a few hairs from your scalp, slipping them into a small pouch.

"Then I expect you to be there and ready to guide me when my time comes. And I'll finally get to see your true face."

You reached out and touched the shroud. Pins and needles went up your arms. Not unpleasant, but certainly... Different.

The places your hands traveled formed under your fingers, memories of a body allowing it to form.

You kissed Guide again, a chill going through your being. Closing your eyes, you blew into where their mouth would be. And for an instant, the limbs formed and arms wrapped around you.

"I've wanted to do this for years." They whispered in your ear. "To feel your warmth in this icy world."

"Do it as long as you like." You leaned into them, a smile on your face.

You had been one another's constant, and knowing it would continue into the next journey gave you a bit of comfort, and you could already see the memories forming, creating a small picture in your hearts.

[vinelark]

wip wednesday for a mere uni student looking for some dopamine release? 🙏🕯️🙏🕯️

New conversation: robin, wonder girl, impulse

[Friday, 8:12pm ET] robin hey guys

impulse oh thank god

robin ?

impulse you’re finally calling a meeting right

robin is it that obvious

impulse yes

wonder girl yeah, i’m with bart on this one days of radio silence and then a groupchat with just us? after all the stuff that happened to kon? this is the part where you say “you’re probably wondering why i’ve gathered you here today” what is it? secret mission? another lab we need to clear out? visiting kon? he’s doing okay, right? nightwing said he was doing okay

impulse cassie how are you texting faster than me

robin no it’s not any of that and yes he’s okay. or, he’s healing as expected, at least. superman reported that he woke up for a bit this evening.

wonder girl thank fuck so what is it

robin right. okay. so you’re probably wondering why i’ve gathered you here today

impulse rob i’m going to pick a direction and start running

robin there’s something i need t bart i’m getting there there’s something i need to tell you two, preferably in person. i’d come to the tower but it was Firmly Suggested i limit my travel at the moment. so if you don’t mind meeting me that would be ideal

wonder girl ominous but yeah, of course

impulse i’m already outside tbh

wonder girl outside where where are we meeting

robin [robin dropped a pin: 📍 ]

wonder girl omw wait robin why does this pin say “wayne manor” when i open it in maps as in the house where gazillionaire nepo baby bruce wayne lives

robin ✌️

wonder girl ROB